Crossed
by Sparrows13
Summary: Meeting at a cabin in the woods, they were unaware of each other's identity. Both were royals, and both were on the run. Not sure if they'd meet again, they parted ways, only to be brought back together, but under much dire circumstances.[AU/AH/OOC, 1600s] Loosely based on Reign, which is owned by the CW.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Cassandra Clare owns the character, CW owns Reign.**

**A special thank you to my beta Wood Painted Flesh.**

**Based slightly and very loosely on Reign.**

**Cover art by me.**

**Summary****: AU/AH, 1600s. Meeting at a cabin in the woods, they were unaware of each other's identity. Both were royals, and both were on the run. Not sure if they'd meet again, they parted ways, only to be brought back together, but under much dire circumstances.**

**Crossed by Sparrows13**

**Chapter 1**

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><p><em>'<em>_Long live the King!'_ echoed throughout the castle's walls, reminding Clary that not only had she lost her father, but her best friend as well. She sat curled up on her window seat in a white batiste nightgown, shivering. She tried to block out the screams of people as soldiers raided the castle and killed servants. Just like they'd killed her father and Simon.

They were dead. Dead. And she was alone. No one, absolutely no one was left whom she could call family. No one she could go to when she felt scared of thunderstorms, no one to share her random thoughts with, no one whom she could call 'Daddy'. No one who loved her.

She drew back the velvet drapes slightly, letting in a sliver of sunlight. She saw soldiers with the Herondale crest and their commanders barging into the castle—Stephen's men, no doubt—and plundering everything they could get their hands on. Money, slaves, jewels…women. And she had known it was coming.

It was disgusting, the way that bastard could command armies of his minions to do his bidding and looting kingdoms when they were at a weak point, just because he wanted to. Just because he could. And the only thing that fueled him was the mutual hatred between the Morgensterns and Herondales. So when push came to shove, and the argument reached a boiling point, the Herondales did what was most natural to them. They attacked.

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><p><em>Clary dismounted Zephyrs, her horse, and decided to walk the rest of the way to the castle. She did not want to draw attention because she was a princess, and princesses had a curfew and they definitely did not go for horse rides at night with another man. It didn't matter if the man was her best friend; everyone judged. Simon walked alongside her and she cherished the moment. She could be in his presence without being chided for her friendship with a servant. Simon had always,always <em>_been there for her, and she realized just about how far beyond he was willing to go for her that night._

_They chatted idly about everything and nothing as they approached the stables. Gas lamps lit the outside and it was a strange sight. No one, for the past five years, had come here at night—unless her father was planning a raid, which he never did. Simon's stance became tense and he motioned for her to stay quiet and stay there as he went ahead, hand on his dagger__. _

_Clary rolled her eyes. Trust Simon to be the ever valiant knight in shining armor. Minutes turned to half an hour before she heard yells and thrashing. Gripping her hunting knife, she slowly inched towards the stables, stumbling on rocks and pebbles. Hiding behind a haystack, she finally saw what was taking Simon so long, and her eyes welled with tears._

_'No,' she whispered._

_The soldiers were boasting of the King's death, and asking for the princess._

_'__Is it so difficult for you to comprehend what I asked you? I said,__where is the princess?' yelled one soldier, whipping Simon across the back with his belt. Simon refused to answer and she saw it in the hard resolve of his eyes that he would never give up her safety for the sake of his own, and her heart cracked._

_Simon met her eyes with his own dark ones and he mouthed__'Run.'_

_Clary shook her head, not wanting to leave him behind, but not wanting to watch him die either. But she could do nothing when the soldier pulled out his sword, and held it over Simon._

_'__Any last words, dimwit?' the soldier asked rhetorically, not expecting Simon to answer with an 'I love you,' directed towards Clary. Clary slapped her hand over her mouth as the man brought down his sword. She saw the blood splatter across the man's armor. Something the soldiers would be laughing about later, about how that stupid mundane servant gave up his life for a princess and a __Morgenstern __princess nonetheless._

_So she fled. She fled to her rooms through the underground passageway entry behind the stables._

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><p>And here she was, absolutely wrecked.<p>

_I have to get away_, she thought.

She had to, before the soldiers broke into her room and killed her or worse. She shuddered at the thought. It would be highly ironic and amusing to the Herondales if the maiden considered the purest was defiled by the people she considered the most impure.

Fueled by this thought, Clary hardened her resolve and packed her most ordinary looking clothes in a small bag, along with jewels to pay off any who would happen to cross her path, to buy their silence. She dressed in a black muslin gown, and a warm travelling cloak. Beneath her skirts, she wore boots and her hair was tied up into a messy bun over which she put on a hat. Anyone would easily recognize her red hair. She gathered all food she had, which wasn't much, and put them in a basket along with a bottle of wine. She'd definitely need that later.

She threw her bag over her shoulder and walked briskly over to her changing screen. Behind the screen, she pushed away a tapestry and stood before the stone door. Nudging it open, she glanced back at her chambers one last time, thinking of all her memories here, and pulled the tapestry and door closed behind her.

The faint shouts of the guards and soldiers were the very last thing she heard before she left for the stables through the passageway.

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><p>Jace Herondale never liked hurting people.<p>

But somehow, his father, Stephen found some sick, twisted joy in it. It also didn't help that Stephen expected his son to follow in his footsteps.

And to prove a point, Stephen manipulated the only best friend Jace ever had, Sebastian, and made him the general of his army. And of course, the bloodshed and riots grew on Sebastian, and Sebastian became like Stephen. They all did, at some point.

Maybe it was the raw feeling of power and control they described, but to Jace, it was absolutely revolting.

That's where Sebastian was tonight, raiding some kingdom at the King's orders. Most of the castle was deserted, and Jace felt stuck. Literally, and metaphorically.

So, it wasn't surprising when he packed up his clothing, and mounted Wayfarer, and took off to lands unknown. He liked to think it would fare out well. He'd be declared a missing person, never found, and he could travel the world; be anything, have everything. Not that he didn't have everything in the castle. He'd be free. And he was.

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><p>As it was said, nothing ran smoothly and without bumps, the saying didn't have any exceptions. And certainly not Jace. He found himself cold and looking for a place to sleep within an hour of leaving.<p>

Figures. He was mostly grumbling to himself and his horse about his future when he came across a wooden cabin, like a woodcutter's.

He tied Wayfarer to a post behind the cabin before tapping on the door. He hoped they wouldn't recognize him. Correction, he prayed. He didn't think he could wander for another God knew how many miles and end up at a mud shack or something.

The door swung open, and he saw no one inhabited it, but it was amply furnished. A divan stood in a corner with paisley printed cushions, and a light blue blanket. A writing desk stood next to it, and a makeshift kitchen with an ice box, a table, a cupboard, and a small pit for fire dominated one side of the room. The bed on the other side looked undoubtedly comfortable and inviting. The fireplace next to the bed looked out of use but Jace figured he could make it work.

_It could definitely by worse, right?_

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><p>Clary had been riding for hours when she finally came across her mother's cabin. It was as she remembered; wooden walls slightly covered with moss, bushes surrounding the small haven. Clary never knew her mother as she'd died when Clary was a baby. Valentine never married again. And this place was the only connection she had to someone she never knew. The soldiers wouldn't find her here for at least a day or two and she could figure out where to go from here. Maybe if the soldiers left the castle, she could even claim the throne. But somehow that seemed like a far cry.<p>

As she approached the cabin, she saw that one post was occupied by a honey colored horse.

_Oh, God... What if they're soldiers? Oh God, I'm going to die today, aren't I?_

Nonetheless, she tied her own horse to the other post and unloaded her 'luggage'. She gripped her hunting knife in one hand and flung open the cabin door. Silence. But there was someone there. A lump lay on the bed, and the fire was burning bright in the hearth.

_Great, this is what I came here for? A squatter?_

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the lump that seemed to be sound asleep. She poked...it with her knife and watched as the lump rolled over, still asleep. Her breath caught. He was beautiful. His fair hair was tousled in an adorable way and his lips were parted, showing a chipped tooth. He was the epitome of peace. The calm before a storm. A strand of hair fell over his forehead and she had a strong urge to push it back. So she did. Just as her hand touched his forehead, the stranger's eyes flew open—a mesmerising gold—and then he let out a very unmanly scream.

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><p><strong>AN: Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns TMI and all its characters.**

**Thanks to my beta Wood Painted Flesh.**

**Crossed **

**Chapter 2**

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><p>Jace could not believe his mouth. He screamed. <em>Screamed<em>. That was supposed to be the girl's reaction. Not his. The girl, however, folded her arms and waited for him to stop. And he did…a _minute_ later.

_Well, obviously I'm going to scream. Prodding me with a knife like I'm a piece of steak just waiting to be cut up—oh steak. Now I'm hungry. And of course I didn't have the good sense to bring food._

The girl was still staring at him in amusement as she started unpacking.

'Uh…who are you?' Jace tried once he had his mini heart attack under control.

'The owner of this cabin, Squat,' the girl replied, her smile widening as her green eyes twinkled.

'Oh…oh. Um…' _Real smooth_.  
>'Don't sweat it, just be out by tomorrow,' the girl replied, placing a basket on the table. 'You are?' she asked, pulling out a bottle that seemed a lot like a bottle of wine.<br>Jace knew he couldn't give her his real name, which was Jonathan, so he went with 'Jace.' It was something not many people called him.

'Well, Jace, you are very lucky that I have food, or people would assume something else when they heard the grumbling of your stomach,' she said, taking off her hat and letting her wild red curls free.

Just as Jace was about to reply, a knock on the door startled them both.

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><p><em>No, no, no, no <em>was all Clary could think. She put her hat back on, and slowly inched towards the door. The thumping got louder. Taking a deep breath, she swung open the door, and saw a Herondale soldier standing at the threshold. She decided to play dumb.  
>'Sir, can I help you with anything?' she noticed Jace had frozen as well. She vaguely wondered if Jace was a runaway.<p>

'I heard a yell, ma'am. Are you okay?' the soldier asked, seemingly genuinely concerned.

'Uh…_' think, Clary, think_. 'Yes, it's just that we just…' she trailed off as she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist, holding her in place firmly. They felt surprisingly good.

'We were busy,' Jace said, with a dazzling smile.  
>Clary mimicked his expression, playing along as the soldier's face turned bright red. However, he didn't seem to buy it.<p>

'How are you….how did you dress so fast?' he choked out.

'Skills. My husband here is a professional cross-dresser and he is surprisingly quick with clothes…_before and after_,' Clary filled in boldly._ Take the bait, Goddamnit._ That seemed to do it.

'Well—I'll just—uh—yeah, I'll just be going,' the soldier stammered but quickly added, 'If you see Princess Clarissa anywhere, contact us. She's wanted.'

And he was gone. Poof. Clary slammed the door behind her as she eyed Jace with thoughtfulness.

'Quick save there, Squat,' she said, walking over to the basket. 'Wine?'

'Red or white?'

'Red.'

'Hit me,' he said, pulling the divan closer to the fire.

Clary opened the cupboards, but came up with two mugs. They would just have to do. Her first drink had been when she was thirteen. She and Simon had sneaked out a bottle from the cellar. The first time she'd tasted wine, she'd spit it out. But eventually the little bugger grew on her.

_Simon. He d_idn't even have a proper burial and funeral. His parents would find out when they'd find his body. The mere thought of Simon lying there was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She poured two mugs and walked over to Jace. Jace saw her glassy eyes, and immediately stood up.

'Are you okay, Red?'

'No, not really, no,' she said, handing him a mug and a loaf of bread.

'Well…do you want to talk about it?'

'My best friend and father died in a raid tonight,' was all she said, somehow without a trace of emotion. She was tired of it all. 'They weren't even cremated. Or mourned. Especially Simon, my best friend.'

Thankfully, Jace didn't say anything; that would've seemed fake. Whoever cared about her problems? Certainly not a stranger—_hot one at that_—she'd just met.

After a moment, Clary held up her mug, motioning for Jace to do the same.

'We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Simon Lewis,' she cocked her head at Jace, 'and your dignity.' She smirked, and Jace made a face. 'Simon Lewis, best friend, brother, son, lover of feisty women—'

'Including you?' Jace asked, sitting down beside her on the divan.

'No…God, no. He was my best friend, nothing more. Though, for the sake of their own entertainment, people liked to think we were a thing. They liked to think of how scandalous it'd be if "word ever got out"' Clary mused, and Jace nodded, like he understood. He probably didn't.

'"If word ever got out"?' Jace asked, his eyes narrowing. 'Why would people care about your flings?'  
>Clary froze momentarily, and then regained her composure. 'You know how people are,' she amended.<br>'Of course,' they clinked their mugs, a sound that resonated throughout the cabin, and downed their wine. After much silence and hesitation, Jace asked, 'So, where are you from? I mean, I don't even know your name, and you know mine.' Clary was startled. There was no way she'd reveal her identity to a stranger.

'I don't do back story. As for the name, call me whatever you like,' Clary paused, seeing his smirk, 'just not Carrot or some lame name because I have a hunting knife and I will not hesitate in using it.'  
>Jace raised his eyebrows, daring. 'Sounds kinky.'<br>'Well, I don't think it's very _kinky_ when you're pinned against the wall, with a knife at your throat.'

'Really?' he challenged. In response, Clary locked her ankle around both of his and pulled, causing him to trip, and her to fall over him. The knife gleamed from its position on his throat. Jace's gold eyes widened, and something in them darkened considerably. 'Yeah…no, you were wrong,' he got out.

Clary was suddenly hyperaware of the compromising position they were in, and her cheeks flushed. She removed the knife, and gracefully rolled off him, landing on her back on the carpet before the fireplace.

'Can you promise me something?' Jace asked after a while.

'I don't know. Promises have been holding very little meaning to me lately,' she said truthfully. Everyone who promised they'd be there for her, always, were dead.

_Oh my God, I am such a pity-partier.  
><em>  
>'No, not that kind of a deep promise. Just…please don't tell anyone that ever again.'<p>

'What, that I don't do promises?'

Jace looked at her incredulously. 'No, that I cross dress. Cross dressing was the best you could come up with?'  
>Clary laughed a clear and melodic sound like a wind-chime. 'Okay, deal, Jace.'<br>'Deal, Hunter.'

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><p>After a while, the fire died down, and the only source of light was the moonlight streaming in through one of the windows.<p>

Jace didn't know how he never saw it before. Hunter was beautiful. The moonlight illuminated her porcelain face, and her green eyes were a lovely shade of green. Not like the kind Camille had. No, her eyes were the kind he could stare at for hours, until he completely lost himself in them. Camille's were cold and manipulative, and the kind he'd once fallen for but he'd vowed never to make the same mistake again. Camille was lovely in an ethereal way, with her pale blonde hair, almost-white and cold skin, and even colder personality.

But _her_…Hunter…she was beautiful in an absolutely breathtaking way. Not at all like the fake, used whores at his father's castle.

And her refusal to tell him her name, along with her mysterious aura made her even more alluring. _And Jace had to stop thinking of her like that and stop speaking about himself in third person. I'll be gone tomorrow._ Somehow, the idea didn't seem all that appealing like it did with other girls. He didn't want to leave.

'Goodnight, Jace,' Hunter whispered from where she lay next to him on the carpet. None of them had the energy to get up and go to the bed or divan. He felt a jolt of electricity as she laced her fingers through his, and with her hand clasped in Jace's as if they were children in a fairy tale, they fell asleep beside each other in the dark.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you to those who reviewed, favourited and followed it.**

**Review this chapter?**

**-Sparrows13**

**PS. I _so_ ship Elsa and Jack Frost. Jelsa is my wallpaper. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns TMI and all it's characters.**

**Wishing you all a very happy new year! Hope you all have a great year.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 3**

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><p><em>Oh my God, this is going to be so awkward,<em> Clary thought as she eyed Jace's arm draped across her stomach. They were spooning. _Spooning_. And when she thought it couldn't get any weirder, he nuzzled his face into her neck.

_Oh my God, this is just—_she cut off her train of thought as he mumbled something that sounded a lot like 'Camille.' _Of course._ Of course he'd be married or engaged or in love.

With a great amount of effort, she removed his arm from her torso, and looked around trying to remember—_Oh. No, no, no, no. Dad. I can't—_

This would be the first day she'd spend without her father. And Simon. She'd do it for the rest of her life, and that thought brought tears to her eyes, which she immediately blinked away. She had no idea where she'd go, though there was a vague possibility she could go to her childhood friend's palace. It would be risky, but there was a chance Isabelle would protect her. The Herondales would be crazy to declare war on the Lightwoods. If there was anyone who could give Stephen a run for his money, it was Robert Lightwood. Valentine and Robert had a friendship that went as deep as the oceans.

_Right. My actual home is just a few miles away, and I'm seeking refuge at my friend's castle. Well done, very monarch-like. _Technically, she _was_ a monarch. Now that her father was dead, she was the Queen. She scoffed. _Queen._ A title she was sure she'd never have to adopt until her father was old, wrinkly, senile, limping about singing ballads in French—and for that, he would have to be really delirious because he didn't even _know_ French—and peeing two-fifty times a day.

Though she wasn't officially the Queen because she hadn't been coroneted, she felt she was responsible for her people. The people of Idris, who fell under Valentine's rule, had always looked up to him. Somehow, she felt she was soiling his memory by not being there for her people, leaving her nation in the hands of a madman.

She lifted her free hand, placed it at her forehead and dragged it down her face in a _Nooooo_ manner. _What am I going to do? _

As she debated the best way to drown oneself in a jar of marmalade while eying the jar of marmalade in question on the table, Jace shifted and groaned.

'Screw you, Camille,' Jace murmured, and flipped over, resuming his position of gripping something with a death-grip, only, this time it was the poor pillow.

Being very careful as to not wake Jace up, she stood up and stretched, relishing in the pull of muscles before her back ached. She'd never slept on the floor before. Or next to a man. Well, there was Simon, but to her, he didn't count as anything more than a brotherly figure. Another pang of longing followed. Somehow, she got herself together—or as Simon would say because he was _so _goody two shoes, she got her shit together—and grabbed her bag which held her change of clothes. She hoped the stream nearby hadn't dried up, because that would be very inconvenient, as she'd have to ride to the next town, whichever one that may be, and use the roman baths there. And it would mean making a detour.

She grabbed a light green muslin gown and her silver hairbrush before stepping out into the woods, the sunlight streaming in through the spaces between leaves in small patches. She took lefts and rights before she reached a small clearing across which a stream flowed. The color of the stream—a light, sparkling blue—washed away any worries she had that moment, and quite literally, too. She stripped down to her corset and petticoat, let her hair fall from her bun, and stepped into the stream.

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><p>Jace was having a very good dream. Up until the main star of said dream turned into a skanky bitch.<p>

Camille. Of course every dream would be of her. After her, he never dreamed of any other girl; she'd spoilt that for him. Big time.

_Jace ran down the corridors, as the horns blazed, and the sounds of the General commanding his army rang through the castle hallways. Some minorities had risen up in revolt. It was a very small issue, but it didn't sit well with Jace, when he thought of Camille, vulnerable in the castle walls._

_She was always on his mind. When he'd see jasmines, they'd remind him of her scent; when he'd watch yellowed leaves cascade down during fall, he'd think of her pale blond hair; when he'd watch the grass beneath his feet, he'd remember how her eyes looked; when he saw girls trying to please him, wearing clothes of golden tulle, and dresses of the finest kind, he'd remember how elegant Camille looked in dark green; when he'd feel the coolness and dizziness of wine, he'd remember how cold her skin felt against his, and how he felt when he kissed her; when he'd watch daughters of diplomats, potential allies, lords and dukes practically throw themselves at him, he'd politely reject their advances, Camille on his mind, and how disappointed she'd be._

_Needless to say, he was as whipped as a man who'd been caught pissing on royal property._

_As he barreled down the corridor, he felt something out of place. Camille's chamber, the one across the hall, was open and her jasmine scent was mixed with something that smelt a lot like cigar. He walked in, and instead of comfort, he felt dread because pressed up against Camille was Raphael Santiago. Camille leaned against Raphael, and they kissed like they hadn't a care in the world; like Jace wasn't there; like she hadn't just shattered his heart into two pieces. Two pieces of which, Camille owned one. One piece, which she completely disregarded. _

_Finally, when he found his voice, he didn't yell obscenities. Instead, he adopted a cold and calm tone, and acknowledged her. 'Camille.' Fast as a swipe of a French swordsman, they sprang apart and Camille's face—if possible—paled drastically. Her mouth opened and closed and she looked like a fish. _A rather bitchy fish,_ he noted_

_'__You,' Jace said, pointing to Raphael, 'out.' Raphael had the decency to obey, murmuring an excuse of some sort, and he was gone. Camille and Jace were left standing in the midst of what she'd done. Camille let out a sigh and ran her fingers through her now-loose hair, and sat down on a loveseat._

_'__I don't love you, Jonathan,' she said, bluntly. _Wow. What a bitch_, he thought and crossed his arms. He shook his head slightly, waiting for her to continue. _

_'__I don't love you,' she repeated 'and I never did. I'm sorry.' She didn't sound sorry. _

_'__Why?' he asked, not letting a trace of anger show on his face. He knew that if he did, she'd use it to manipulate him. Camille seemed torn for a moment before snapping 'Oh, you know what? If Stephen wants someone to whore around with you, he can damn well find someone else.' Camille rose angrily, huffing out some choice words and spun on her heel, heading towards the door but Jace was faster. He was there before her, blocking the exit with both arms on either side of him. _

_'__No.' _

_'__No what?' Camille asked, innocently._

_'__I am not letting you until you tell me the meaning of,' his voice rose by a few octaves, '"If Stephen wants". Either you tell me, or you have your title stripped.' He hated threatening people, but it was something he had to master._

_'__You're lying. You're not King yet. Only His Majesty can bestow or strip titles. You're just the Prince Royal,' she sneered. Jace smirked._

_'__Oh? You think he'd outlive you? Because I'm sure that you'd do best, were you in favor of the future King of Alicante. And who could that possibly be?' he smiled a radiant smile, effortlessly masking the hate and loathing. He didn't want to hurt Camille. He wanted for her to be out of his sight, but not hurt. He couldn't wish that on anyone. _

_Camille looked shaken. She took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I'm so, so sorry, Jonathan. It was not something I'd usually do. But Stephen made it sound so tempting.' She looked scared. 'He offered me a title that I'd only get if I complied. Duchess. Can you believe that, Jonathan? Duchess,' Camille had a far away look. _

_'__He said that all I had to do was make you fall for me and break your heart. That was all. So you'd never love again. You'd let him marry you off for alliances, and he would do it. So you'd never marry for love. I never intended on breaking your heart,' she said, a calculative gleam in her eyes, 'because the title "Princess Royal Camille Herondale" sounds much better, don't you think?'_

_Jace couldn't believe it. Here was the girl of his dreams, the girl he loved, the girl he'd have done anything for, the girl who had him wrapped around her little finger so tightly that he'd been unable to see through her scheme, telling him she pretended to love him for titles. So excuse him if he went a tiny bit batshit crazy._

_'__Right, Camille. Right. Well, in that case, I am so sorry,' he said, adopting a fake-sympathetic tone. 'I am so sorry that I cannot find it in me to give a damn about your pidly-ass problem.' _

_'__Jonathan, please—'_

_'__Have your clothes packed and ready to go in an hour. Your carriage will be waiting.'_

_'__Don't do this. Plea—'_

_'__No. Screw you, Camille.'_

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><p>Jace woke up with a feeling in his chest he identified as heartache. He flipped over, and saw that Hunter was gone. Her bag still lay where she'd put it last night on the table, and he saw from the window that her horse was still there outside.<p>

The door opened, and Hunter stood there, in a light green dress, looking beautiful in all her Hunter-like glory. 'Finally up, Squat?' she teased, pushing back her damp hair with a silver hairbrush.

'Yeah,' he said, rubbing his eyes. He yawned, and she chuckled.

'You look like a lion,' she said, walking over to the basket, and handing Jace a mango.

'I like mangoes,' he informed her matter-of-factly.

'I see. Well, you should go wash up. There's a stream nearby,' she said.

'I know. I happen to like frequenting these woods.'

Hunter smiled. 'Of course.' Hunter's smile reminded him of last night, the way she was pressed up against him, her ankle locked around his, her—'So, I'm going to go,' he said quickly, and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He called out behind him, 'I'll also take Wayfarer. That poor thing can use a bath. Or four.' The last thing he heard before he left Hunter was her laugh, clear as tinkling bells. And somehow, they sounded like spring.

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><p>It had been an hour since Jace had left, and Clary was concerned. Not worried, because that would imply feelings. No feelings, whatsoever. He'd taken his horse, and she hoped he'd not left without saying goodbye. She collected her basket and things, and closed the door of the cabin behind her. She mounted Zephyrs, and left for the stream.<p>

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><p>The bank of the stream was empty. No horse, no cross-dressing, girly-screaming, mango-liking, some-Camille-loving, nickname-giving, blond-haired, gold-eyed Jace. He was gone without so much as a goodbye.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: My WiFi messed up and I accidentally uploaded the unedited version without the authors note and dividers. This is unbeta'd because I'm on vacation and updated as soon as I got a bar of WiFi. I am currently typing the authors note and adding line breaks, sitting at the breakfast buffet while my parents tell me to get off the phone because they think**** it's rude or something . But that doesn't make Wood Painted Flesh any less awesome.**

**Thank you to all those who favourited, followed and reviewed. **

**I adore reviews. So. Leave me some as a new years gift? **

**-Sparrows13**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns TMI and all its characters.**

**A thank you to my beta Wood painted flesh.**

**PS. A/N at the bottom**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 4**

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><p>Jace felt he ought to thank Hunter. But things rarely went the way he wanted them to.<p>

Standing at the bank of the stream, he took his time picking at the rocks, wondering where he'd go. Wayfarer sat washed and cleansed by his side, occasionally flicking back his mane majestically and with a superior and royal air that said _Bow down to me, filthy peasant,_ like he was still a palace horse that was fed thrice a day and was given a comfortable stable to sleep in.

'Glad _someone's_ still got that attitude,' Jace muttered, absently stroking the horse's coat.

A sudden galloping sound of horses' hooves alerted him of someone's presence nearby. He shot up, urging Wayfarer up by the reins. Wayfarer protested, disgruntled at having his daydreams interrupted, but obeyed because Jace was the one who fed him. Whoever argued with people who gave them food? Dumbasses and people afraid of pedophiles, _that's_ who.

Jace tugged Wayfarer behind him towards a boulder. He put pressure on Wayfarer's back, and Wayfarer sat down obediently. Jace crouched down next to his horse, hoping whoever it was, wasn't one of his father's men; that would be inconvenient. His hand automatically moved to his sword strapped onto Wayfarer's back. Wayfarer quietly snorted, as if to say_ Keep your hands to yourself._ Jace scoffed, but didn't remove his hand. He peeked over the boulder and saw two dark-haired men round the corner tree, stopping at the bank across the stream. One of the men had a horse, and another walked on foot. Even from his position, he could see that one man's eyes were a sharp, icy blue.

Alec Lightwood.

Jace felt a light, giddy sense of relief. His best friend. He remembered how Stephen hadn't approved of him being friends with a Lightwood, especially since the Lightwoods had allied themselves with the Morgensterns.

Jace weighed his options. Alec could know of Stephen finding him and would help him hide for a while, or he could turn him in. The former seemed more likely, so he carefully, inch-by-inch rose from his spot, thinking of how to approach him.

He could go _'Oh hey, Alec, buddy! So, I'm on the run, and I need you to hide me for a while, but because my father might be in a murderous rage, he might declare war on your family for housing me, there'll be bloodshed and riots, yada yada. So, want to stop in a nearby town for roast beef, or do we dine at the palace?'_

He didn't see that angle going well, so he carefully started to make his way to where Alec kneeled towards the stream, cupping his hands and bringing it to the stream.

Just as Alec brought his hands to his mouth and took a big gulp, he made the mistake of looking up towards Jace, and the water jet-sprayed out of his mouth. It reminded Jace of the naked statues of men gracefully spitting out water in his father's castle. Jace had always wanted to master the-art-of-graceful-spitting-of-water-at-the-dining-table-and-pissing-off-his-father-because-he-looks-so-funny-with-that-vein-throbbing-in-his-forehead-just-waiting-to-pop-open-and-spray-the-table-with-blood-when-he's-angry-and-it-sounds-bloodthirsty-so-Jace-is-going-to-stop-now-okay-bye.

Alec ran the back of his hand over his mouth, staring at Jace in bewilderment.

'Jace?' he asked, closing his eyes and then opening them again.

'No, it's _Barbara_. Who did you think I was?' he replied, crossing his arms, and glaring at Alec in a playful manner.

'Still the same, I see,' Alec replied, starting to smile, and getting up, but his companion—who they'd forgotten was there—started to panic and raised his sword, pointing it at Jace.

'Wha—'Jace started to say, but was cut off by the man's trembling voice.

'You're Jonathan Herondale, aren't you? Stephen says you're wanted, that you killed Lady Camille.'

Jace looked at Alec, who looked equally puzzled, but then his gaze fell on the man's name tag which said "Jeremy Pontmercy". But what caught Jace's attention was the tiny heron inside the _o._ It was minute, but Jace saw it. It was a Herondale symbol. Jace should've known. It was what Stephen did. He kidnapped perhaps a soldier or five from another kingdom's ranks, and replaced them with his own. He only did it with kingdoms with a large number of soldiers so that they could fit in without having people be suspicious of them. It was his insurance policy, of sorts. _When in doubt, hold a royal hostage_. The small indent shape as a heron was a way of identifying their own.

Jace faced Jeremy, holding up his arms in surrender, making eye contact with Alec, who nodded almost imperceptibly. As Jeremy advanced towards Jace, Alec used the butt of his own dagger to hit Jeremy over the head.

Jeremy fell limp, and his sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground.

'Jonathan, please give me a valid reason for why we just knocked my own guard unconscious.' Alec said, removing Jeremy's name tag from his chainmail jacket.

Jace came up next to him, shoving Jeremy's body out of his way. He pointed to the_ o._ 'You see that? That little indentation? That's a Herondale mark. Your life was literally in Stephen's hands. Well, indirectly,' Jace explained, moving to rid Jeremy of his jacket.

'What are you doing?' Alec asked, as he watched Jace remove Jeremy's belt. 'You're not molesting an unconscious person, are you?'

Jace snorted. 'No, I don't swing that way, Alec. And I'm dressing as him. I'm coming along with you.'

'What did Pontmercy mean when he said you'd killed Camille? Please tell me that's not true,' Alec pleaded.

'It's not true. You know Stephen; how he manipulates. He did it so no one would house a wanted person. Providing shelter to a wanted person is punishable. It's _treason_. Missing person? They're pardoned. He wants me back. He'll do and say anything. That includes pinning lies on me. Camille probably isn't even dead. She's probably been banished to Trinidad or something,' Jace explained, hatred lacing his tone as he pulled on the thick shirt made of tight material Jeremy had been wearing. He pulled on the chainmail jacket and pinned on the nametag.

'I need a place to stay, Alec, if you'll have me. I'll be out by dawn next day, I promise.'

Alec looked sympathetic. He knew what it felt like to hate your own father. When he revealed to his father that he preferred the company of men over women, Robert had gone ballistic. He'd made Alec swear on the Angel never to speak of it again, much less act on it. He'd told Alec that if he got married to a princess of a royal family or a woman from a respectable family, he'd let the issue go and Alec could keep his fortune. Needless to say, Alec had no choice.

Alec nodded. 'Of course. Stay as long as you like, but discretely. I don't think father would like it if he found out he was housing a _wanted_ person. Well, wanted by the _Herondales_.'

Jace looked relieved, and pulled in Alec for a man-hug. 'Thank you, Alec.'

Jace got Wayfarer ready, and picked up Jeremy's sword. He could've sworn Wayfarer guffawed as if to say _About time_.

'What are we going to do with Jeremy?' Alec asked as he watched Jace mount Wayfarer, and mounted his own horse.

Jace seemed to ponder for a minute before taking hold of the reins and putting on Jeremy's too-big helmet. 'Let him stay here. He doesn't have a tag, so he won't be able to be presented before Stephen. And even if he was, he'd tell Stephen I was at the Lightwood palace and that would be too late. I'd be gone by then.'

Jace looked back towards the little cabin where Hunter probably waited for him. He'd say goodbye if he could, but he was sure Hunter would understand if he explained himself. And they'd never meet again, right?

* * *

><p>Clary got off Zephyrs, and took in the gigantic stone walls of the Lightwood palace. She was about to do it. She was at one of the back entrances, and was wringing her hands together, not sure of how to go about it. In the end, she walked through the open door, leaving Zephyrs at the small clearing. It was an empty kitchen she walked into. She straightened and smoothed out her skirts. She was clearly in the basement, judging from the lack of light besides what the open door let in. Being a princess, poise and perfection came to her like a reflex. She unclasped her torch necklace and walked across the kitchen and up the spiral staircase.<p>

She found herself inside the marble walls of the palace, tapestry after tapestry adorning the walls, and five-foot tall golden vases placed at intervals. A long Persian carpet ran along the length of the hallway. Maids rushed past her, not giving her a glance. She grabbed the arm of one who was bustling past, and spun her around.

Clary looked at her nametag and said, 'Anna, I need to talk to Her Grace Isabelle Lightwood.'

Anna scoffed. 'Right, and I want a million gold coins.'

Just as Anna turned to go, Clary stepped in front of her, holding her palm out. Anna paled. The necklace with the torch, a Lightwood symbol, glinted. 'Take me to her.'

Anna reluctantly nodded. 'Yes, my lady...I'm sorry, your name is?'

'Reese.'

* * *

><p>Isabelle sat in her study, trying but failing, to translate Ulysses. Her head ached and whoever <em>cared<em> if she knew Greek, Spanish, or even _Portugese_, for Angel's sake? _Apparently_ potential husbands did. She sighed and pushed away her scrolls and leather bound books before propping up her feet and leaning back in her golden brocade cushioned chair and stared at the fireplace. The flames flickered back and forth, lulling Isabelle to sleep. She liked to sleep. It was her favorite hobby, especially when she was hung-over. But of course, just as she was on the brink of falling asleep, a knock startled her awake.

'Come—in' she said, yawning through her words. A maid peeked from behind the door timidly, like she might get scolded for it. 'Your Grace, someone's here to see you. She was quite insistent.' The maid reached behind her, and showed Isabelle a silver necklace. A Lightwood necklace. There was only one other piece like that, and she'd given it to Clary. Isabelle gasped.

'Let her in!' she commanded, all traces of her headache gone. Her friend walked in, ever poised, and Isabelle dismissed the maid with a wave of her hand. Isabelle wasted no time in rushing across the room as fast as her heels would allow and tackled Clary in a bear hug which Clary returned.

'I'm so sorry to come to you like this, Iz,' Clary said, still hugging her.

'No! No, God no. You know this is just as home to you as it is to me, right?' Isabelle scolded, pulling away and brushing out Clary's slightly tangled hair.

'Right,' Clary smiled, and her smile suddenly disappeared.

'What's wrong?' Isabelle asked, pulling Clary to her window seat.

Clary sat down next to her, lacing her hands together and placing them in her lap. 'Izzy, please promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you.'

Isabelle nodded. 'Of course.'

'No, I mean, not even Alec.'

Isabelle hesitated for a second before nodding again. And so, Clary told her everything. Even everything that happened with Jace. By the end, she wasn't even crying, though her hands were clenched into fists.

'They killed him, Iz, both of them.' Isabelle said nothing, and Clary appreciated that. 'I'll be out by tomorrow. I promise. I just need to stay here for tonight, maybe do something to take my mind off it.'

Isabelle seemed to think for a minute before saying, 'Where will you go, Clary?'

'I don't know, Izzy. I really don't know,' Clary sighed and slumped against the window, watching the sun set.

* * *

><p>'Oh my God, this is boring,' Isabelle declared, nudging Clary awake.<p>

'Izzy, just because I'm not dancing around and entertaining you does not mean I'm _boring_,' Clary said, peeking through one open eye.

'Oh, good, you're awake. Come on, we're getting dressed.'

'Of course I'm awake. And why are we getting dressed?' Clary moaned, burying her face further into the pillow on Isabelle's bed.

Isabelle smiled, displaying her pearly whites. 'Because, Clarissa dear, we're going to the masquerade ball my father's holding. He's probably throwing it so he has an excuse for bringing another woman back to his chambers. But no one cares anymore. Mother turns a blind eye towards his line of mistresses.'

'She doesn't care?' Clary asked, propping herself up on one elbow. Isabelle fiddled with her red lace sleeve, and shook her head.

'She used to, at one point. Now, it's like she doesn't even acknowledge his presence. Maybe it's easier for her that way. It's another reason why I don't want to marry someone I don't love. It seems _suffocating_ and binding because the husband can do _whatever_ he wants, _bed_ whomsoever he wants and the wife is left alone,' Isabelle confessed.

Clary nodded.

Isabelle took a deep breath. 'God, this is getting depressing.'

'What if someone recognizes me?'

'Clary, it's a masquerade ball and your name is Lady Reese, not Princess Royal Clarissa Morgenstern,' Isabelle said in a hushed whisper.

Clary rolled her eyes. 'Fine, you can dress me.'

Isabelle grinned.

* * *

><p>Clary sat at Isabelle's vanity as Isabelle yanked and pulled at her hair like it killed her firstborn child. 'Go <em>easy<em>, Isabelle! I actually want my hair to remain on my head and not on the _floor_.'

'I would if you actually had hair _worth_ going easy on, Clary.'

Clary rolled her eyes and huffed, blowing at a piece of hair falling over her face. It fell back and she blew at it again.

Isabelle snatched it and tucked it into the hairdo she was working on. 'Don't.'

'Buzzkill,' Clary muttered and saw Isabelle glaring at her playfully.

Half an hour, seventy careful yanks and some twists later, Clary's hair was knotted behind her head in a fishtail updo. Clary didn't know how Isabelle managed to get her untamable hair under control, but she had to admit—Isabelle did a damn fine job. Isabelle's own hair twisted at the back into two Celtic knots and the rest was left down; she looked like a goddess.

'Okay, grasshopper. Go,' Isabelle pointed towards the changing screen.

Clary's ball gown was draped over the top, and Clary sighed. She tried to come to conclusion of how heavy it would be when Isabelle pushed her towards the screen.

'Ow, Iz, I'm going!' Clary grumbled and picked the dress. It was beautiful; like Isabelle had picked it out with Clary in mind. The skirt had panel after panel of cream silk, and each panel ended in tiny blue sequins. The corset was plain cream to balance the skirt. Her mask sat on a table, all dazzling like_ I know you want me,_ and Clary did. It was a light blue with a plume of peacock feathers on one side joined to the mask with a peacock shaped brooch. Isabelle handed Clary a pair of baby blue lace gloves and nudged her towards the screen.

'Thank you, Isabelle. You're amazing'

Isabelle didn't even fake modesty. 'What a coincidence. I think so too.' She smiled and Clary disappeared behind the screen.

* * *

><p>After lots of tugging and holding-so-it-doesn't-slip-and-damn-it-I-think-it's-too-heavy-and-oh-my-God-I-think-it's-falling-Izzy-help-me-this-is-your-fault-and-I-hate-you-but-not-really-but-I-love-this-dress-ergo-I-love-you-thank-you-so-much-I-think-I'm-going-to-cry-but-oh-please-don't-let-me-thank-you-for-the-tissue, Clary finally managed to top off her outfit with glass slippers.<p>

Isabelle stood before the screen wearing an elegant cream dress with black lace overlay on the corset and starting of the skirt. Her sleeves were sheer lace which reached till the elbow. She wore black lace gloves and her black mask with a wing-like extension on one side would've made her look like the black swan if not for her lace shoes.

'Ready? No, wait, don't answer that because you'll say no,' Isabelle said and steered Clary out of her chambers and into the hallway. Isabelle's timing was off because she drove Clary into the person standing before her door.

'I am so sorry,' Clary apologized, straightening and smacking Izzy on the arm.

'No problem,' the stranger replied. He had fair, tousled hair but his eyes were shielded by a thin brown film on this domino mask. He wore a gold embroidered waistcoat with patterns of leaves and he had a sword strapped to his waist. He pulled off dress-shoes with a grace many lacked and his smile reminded her of—Isabelle gasped, breaking off Clary's train of thought.

'Alec! There you are! I've been looking for you,' Isabelle said, and took her brother's arm and walked away. Clary and the stranger stood there for what seemed like hours before the stranger finally cleared his throat and said, 'Alec was supposed to show me to the ballroom.' Clary laughed.

'And Isabelle was supposed to escort _me_. But that won't be a problem. I know my way around.' she said.

He smiled and after a moment, he offered her his arm. 'I don't.'

She took his arm. 'I don't think I asked you what your name was,' he said, as Clary led him down the corridor.

'Lady Reese.'

'Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Reese. I'm Lord Chrysos.'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh my God, this has to be the longest chapter I've written. Just woken up, so I'm going to post this and then pass out. **

**Wood painted flesh is awesome because I'm pretty sure it's not easy beta'ing an almost-3000 word chapter. A huge thank you to her. **

**I made a Pinterest board for Crossed because why the hell not? It's very tempting. The link is on my profile. Go check it out, follow it.**

**Fueled by Coke and Fruit Shoot. And the fake modesty ****line 'What a coincidence. I think so too' is my best friend's influence. She doesn't have an account here. Can you believe that?**

**A thank you to all those who reviewed and favourited and followed, thank you. **

**Guess where this quote is from. 'Break my heart. Break it a thousand times. It was only ever yours to break.'**

**Review this chapter? Because it took me around five hours to write this after a lot of deleting and backspacing and italic'ing and it would be awesome if you reviewed.**

**-Sparrows13**

***passes out because is tired and went to sleep at 4 am.***


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: It's written in the stars. I'll never own The Mortal Instruments or its characters.**

**A thank you to my beta wood painted flesh who read through this and beta'd it despite having other priorities. She's awesome. **

**Crossed**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

><p>The Main Hall was brightly lit, and people paraded around in their colorful dresses and matching masks. Men wore fancily embroidered waistcoats and frock coats whereas women flocked around in their elaborate and corseted gowns.<p>

At the palace's entrance, servants stood with their heads bowed, collecting cloaks and capes. Neither Clary nor Lord Chrysos had any sort of coat, so Clary led them directly to the ball room.

As they turned into one of the dimly lit corridors, Lord Chrysos cleared his throat. And that made Clary want to clear her throat because she felt one of those you-know-when-people-do-something-and-you-have-a-sudden-urge-to-do-it-too-but-can't-because-it-seems-rude-like-you're-copying-them-and-are-slightly-pissed-you-didn't-do-it-before-them-so-you-wouldn't-be-in-this-situation-to-begin-with-oh-my-God-this-is-so-frustrating-should-I-just-fake-a-sneeze-to-mask-it-? kind of itch. Clary finally decided on faking a cough because a sneeze would be too much.

Just as she was about to raise her hand to her mouth, he spoke up. Clary inwardly sighed. She could never catch a break, could she?

The Lord stared at her through the brown film on his mask before he said, 'I'm sorry, you just remind me of someone.'

'Can I ask whom?' Clary asked, genuinely curious. Who else would have red hair and green eyes? It was a rare combination. She somehow didn't like the idea of someone else looking like her.

Lord Chrysos shook his head and chuckled. 'She probably doesn't remember me, and if she does, I'm sure she doesn't think very highly of me.'

'Oh,' Clary pursed her lips. The man distinctly reminded her of Jace, but she pushed away those thoughts, not wishing to dwell on the fact the Jace had left without the most common of courtesies.

They reached the large wooden double doors carved with flames. One of the many guards standing before the doors extended his palm and Clary reached into the folds of her dress. Her hand curled on the hilt of her sheathed hunting knife. _Oops, wrong fold_. She produced her invite scroll and the guard nodded. Lord Chrysos displayed his own invite, and just before he pocketed it, she caught a glimpse of spidery handwriting that said_ 'Guest of HRH Alexander Lightwood_'. Huh.

Lord Chrysos took her hand in his, and leaned down, pressing his lips to it. Clary felt herself blush slightly. She wasn't used to such attention from men.

'Shall we?' he asked, offering her his arm once again.

'We shall.'

* * *

><p>Isabelle dragged her brother away from his guest and Clary.<p>

'Alexander Gideon Lightwood, do not tell me you've brought a man with you as your escort to father's ball,' Isabelle hissed, letting go of him in a jerky motion. 'You know I'm not against you courting men, but do not try father's patience anymore. Regardless of the fact that you're his son, he _will_ disown you.'

Alec's eyes widened and he shook his head, his blue and gold mask getting displaced as he did so. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. 'I've not, Isabelle.' He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper and dragged his sister to the nearest balcony.

'Don't you recognize him?' Alec asked, fixing his mask.

Isabelle folded her arms and her hips jutted out. 'No.'

'It's Jonathan.'

Isabelle gasped, her eyes widening.

'_Herondale_?'

Alec nodded.

'Well, don't just nod! Why is he here, Alec?'

And so, Alec told her all that transpired that afternoon. When he was done, Isabelle's face was pale, and she looked horror-struck. 'This is really bad. Really, really bad.'

Alec looked puzzled. 'Why? He'll be gone by tomorrow. Please don't tell father, Isabelle,' he pleaded.

'No, it's not that.'

Alec looked annoyed. 'Damn it, Isabelle, stop pulling this mysterious shit. What is it?'

Isabelle dropped her head into her hands. 'Do you realize what we've done? Clarissa Morgenstern and Jonathan Herondale. We're housing both of them. Do you know what this means? This means that if Stephen were to find out, he could hold father punishable by death. Us, too. Because Clary is wanted by the Herondales as well. For now, they're ruling her kingdom as regents.'

Alec took this in, but eventually shook his head. Ever reasonable, he said, 'No. He can't convict the ruler of another kingdom. He'd have to declare war for that; and we know he's not going to do that. He's proved to be too much of a wuss.'

Isabelle started pacing the length of the small balcony, careful not to step on her tulle skirt. 'No. Stephen's manipulative. He'll let word spread of Robert's indiscretions and have the people decide for themse—'

Alec grabbed Isabelle by the shoulders and spun her around, engulfing her in a hug.

'Don't. They'll be gone by tomorrow, and this never will have happened. They don't know who the other is, right?' he whispered.

Isabelle nodded.

'So we'll let it be that way. They'll leave and everything will be back to normal, okay? Okay?'

Isabelle pulled back and smiled at her brother. 'Okay.'

* * *

><p>The ballroom was the picture of perfection. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at intervals, and candles burnt low on candelabras placed every two feet along the walls. High arched windows dominated the upper half of every wall. Huge mirrors with golden frames hung from every inch of the wall where it wasn't covered by a tapestry.<p>

An orchestra sat at one end of the hall on one side of the dais Robert Lightwood sat on one of the enormous thrones, and a woman shamelessly draped herself across his chest. And it obviously wasn't Maryse. _Whore-monger_. The woman wore a black gown and nothing covered her corset.

Maryse sat next to him patiently, looking anywhere but at Robert. Clary couldn't figure out why Robert preferred other women when Maryse was clearly much more beautiful than any of them. She looked regal, wearing a dark blue dress which had a light tulle cape at the back. She wore no mask, probably to push boundaries as much as she could.

Robert Lightwood rose from his seat and all laughter and talking ceased.

'In honor of Valentine Morgenstern's death, I hold this ball. Valentine was a great man, and I can only imagine that he wouldn't want people to sit around and mope. He was a great man, even though his name was quite pansy-assed,' he chuckled and so did many people.

_It's true,_ Clary thought. And she knew her father; he _would_ want people to celebrate instead of mourn. Apparently, Robert was a good enough friend to know it too. Despite the situation with his married life, Robert was actually a decent person.

'Lighting of lanterns is a Japanese symbol of letting go of the past, and today, all those from the kingdom of Idris who are present here can let go of this tragedy. So, I ask all those present here to pick a lantern, and light it. Then please proceed to the balconies.' With that, Robert picked up two lanterns from a table near him and offered on to Maryse. Maryse took it with a tight smile.

Clary was touched. She'd never thought she'd get a chance to properly honor her father; she did have an option of going back to Idris, but that wouldn't have worked out. Someone grabbed her hand, and she looked up to see Lord Chrysos offering her a lantern. She smiled.

By the time they reached the balcony, the dark blue sky was dotted with the glow of hundreds of lanterns, big and small, red and blue, near and far. Lord Chrysos handed her a candle, and she lighted it. She watched it float away as everyone started leaving the balconies and back to the ballroom. Lord Chrysos went back inside but Clary stayed there for a while longer until none of the lanterns could be seen.

* * *

><p>'See, Isabelle? They're getting along well,' Alec pointed to Jonathan and Clarissa dancing to a waltz.<p>

'Well, _hello_. Neither of them knows who the other is. _Obviously_ they'd get along.' Isabelle looked thoughtful before she said, 'You know, if they weren't from rival families, their babies would be really cute.'

Alec choked on his wine.

'What? It's true,' Isabelle said, watching the two glide across the floor.

'Maybe,' Alec agreed, but his eyes were elsewhere. 'Who's that?' he asked, pointing to an Asian man who seemed to be in deep conversation with their father.

'Who, that slut? That's Annamarie Highsmith. I hear she's a real—'

'No, Isabelle, and do you really have to be that vulgar?' Alec asked, horrified. 'I meant that man. The one in the sparkly frockcoat. Like, really sparkly.'

Isabelle's eyes hunted for Alec's lump of sparkles and her eyes fell on whom her brother was pointing to.

'_Him_? That's Magnus Bane, Ambassador of the oriental countries. Why, hoping to get into his pants by the end of the night?' Isabelle said with a suggestive smirk and waggling of eyebrows.

Alec flushed a deep red.

'N-no. God, Isabelle. One would think you were brought up by brothel owners,' Alec scolded, turning away from her.

Isabelle smiled. _Right_.

* * *

><p>Lord Chrysos was a great dancer, definitely. And he was <em>very<em> good looking. It was a shame Clary couldn't see his eyes; he'd make a great model for a portrait. She watched him ask another woman for a dance as she sat in one of the high-backed chairs propped against the walls. She was exhausted. She'd been riding most of the day, and her nap in Izzy's room had barely lasted an hour.

She hardly noticed it when Robert Lightwood had walked up to her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see his dark blue eyes boring into hers. She panicked for a moment; what if he'd recognized her? What if he turned her in to Stephen? Nonetheless, she composed herself and rose from her seat.

She curtsied before she said, 'You Grace. Can I help you?'

Robert smiled brilliantly, holding out his hand. 'I noticed you looked rather lonely. May I have this dance?'

She obviously couldn't refuse, so she took his and gave him a small smile.

'You're a shy little thing, aren't you?' he asked with a flirtatious tone to his voice.

_Gag_.

He led her to the floor and couples cleared a space for them. It really wasn't an ideal situation for someone who didn't want to drag attention to herself, but she didn't have a choice.

'I'm not really used to such an honor, Your Grace,' she said. Maybe she could butter him up and then he'd let her go after one dance.

Robert chuckled and pulled her close, closer than she'd find comfortable, using the slow music as an excuse. Clary felt disgusted when he ran his fingers across her bare shoulders.

She felt his warm breath fan over the back of her neck as he said, 'I haven't seen you around court often. I assure you, I would've remembered if I had.'

_You _have_ seen me, dipshit_.

'No, I'd heard of the ball in your kingdom. I'm from Idris.'

'Oh? I'm sure Valentine would've told me of you; he knows how I prefer redheads. What's your name?' he asked, grinning.

_Lady I-would-knee-you-in-the-balls-if-you-weren't-a-king, Your Grace._

'Lady Reese, Your Grace.'

'Fiery in Welsh. Apt,' he said as he spun her around and pulled her in again. 'Are you married, Lady Reese?' he asked.

_No, you bastard. And you're probably asking me that so you can bed me. No can do, Robbie._

Before she could say something, someone cleared their throat from behind.

'As a matter of fact, she is…Your Grace,' he added as an afterthought. _Thank God._ Lord Chrysos stood behind Robert.

'May I steal my wife for a moment, Your Grace?' he said, as if a man would need permission to _steal_ his wife from someone who had their hands all over her.

Robert seemed to force a smile. 'Of course,' he said and stepped away.

Lord Chrysos took her hand, leading her away.

'Can I just say thank you?' He chuckled.

'You looked uncomfortable. What kind of a man would I be if I left a woman to fend for herself?'

'Oh? You think I couldn't handle him?'

'No, I'm sure you could. But I was also sure you'd get kicked out of the castle before the night ended.'

True.

* * *

><p>'Isabelle…who are they?' Alec asked, as he watched a handful of men file into the room one after another. All of them wore gold armor and gold masks and they were eerily synchronized.<p>

Isabelle paled slightly and her mouth fell open. 'Go get Jonathan. Send him away. Now,' she said through gritted teeth.

'Not without reason, Isabelle. _What happened_?' he said, as Isabelle started pushing through the crowd.

Isabelle stopped and spun around. 'Those men? Herondale soldiers. Need I say more?' she said, pointing to the men who'd by then walked up to Robert Lightwood on the dais. There seemed to be lots of yelling.

'Now, Alexander.' Alec walked away, hunting for Jonathan in the crowd.

Isabelle spotted fiery hair in the crowd, and almost stumbled over in haste. She grabbed Clary by the arm and spun her around. She reached into a fold in her dress and gave her a key. 'Herondales are here,' she said as Clary's eyes widened. 'You remember the Northstar house?'

Clary nodded.

'Come with me, _now_.'

* * *

><p>Everything was going pretty well up until Alec told him to leave because his father's soldiers were here. At that, Jace couldn't find it in himself to be scared; he felt annoyed that his father would actually scour kingdoms for him. Jace doubted his father even <em>cared<em>. He just needed an heir he could manipulate and turn into a walking talking Stephen Junior. Jace could not figure out why he didn't simply adopt Sebastian; he was orphaned and he worshipped the ground Stephen walked on and the butt-prints he left on seats.

He pocketed Alec's key and made his way to the stables as discreetly as he could, which was saying a lot since he was so gold that people might've assumed he bathed in it.

_\And obviously my looks don't help either._

He took off his mask and stuffed it in a flowerpot nearby.

When he reached the guest stables, he searched the stalls for Wayfarer until he found the honey colored horse examining his hooves sitting on the hay covered ground. Wayfarer seemed to sense his presence and jerked his head like _welcome to my humble abode, which is, Wayfarer's home for wayward adolescent and equestrians_. And then he nodded to the side as if to say, _pet me. It's your job._

'Not today, buddy. Today, we leave. Again,' Jace said, taking hold of the reins and tugging him up.

Wayfarer seemed to roll his eyes and he snorted as if to say, _I'm not your little bitch._ But he obliged. Just as Jace led him out of the stall, he saw a woman draped in a dark coat, walking out her own horse from another stall. Her mask was gone, and her dress was covered by the coat.

'_Hunter_?'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So. That happened. I just want to get a few things down before I awkwardly ask you to review at the end.**

**School's starting next week so I'll probably be updating every weekend or whenever I have time (starting from chapter 7 as 6 is almost done). Anyways****, thank you to all those who followed, reviewed and favourited.**

**In the next chapter, there's going to be a little trigger warning issued at the beginning so if you don't feel comfortable, don't read it.**

**So...umm. Review? Or don't. Whatever floats your boat, though I love reviews.**

**-Sparrows13**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mortal Instruments**

**Beta'd by wood painted flesh who's awesome.**

**Trigger warning for rape. If you don't feel comfortable, don't read.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 6**

* * *

><p>She froze. <em>What the hell<em>? Only one other person called her Hunter. _Oh my God, really? Of all times, now?_

She saw no way of weaseling her way out of this, so she turned towards the voice, letting her hood fall back. 'Jace,' she said as he walked towards her.

The candlelight from one of the candelabras on the windowsills illuminated his profile as he stepped out from the shadows. His outfit was eerily similar to that of Lord Chrysos and his hair was the exact same shade—with a jolt, she realized he _was_ Lord Chrysos.

'Nice touch with the Greek, _Lord Chrysos_,' she said, letting go of the reins and wrapping her arms around herself.

'Nice touch with the Welsh, _Lady Reese_,' he said, mimicking her tone.

'Who says my name isn't Reese?'

'Because you don't look like a Reese,' he said bluntly.

'What do you mean by that? How does someone _look_ like a name?'

He shrugged. 'They just do. I, for example, am not Chrysos because _blegh_ it sounds old. What _is_ your real name?'

'Hunter.'

He chuckled. 'Right. Well, I'd better be off. I'm headed to Northstar. I want to reach there by dawn,' he said and turned to climb onto Wayfarer's back.

'Wait,' Clary said and stepped before his horse. The horse made an impatient sound and raised a hoof, giving her the evil-eye. 'I'm also headed there but can't remember the way. I'm supposed to be staying at the Lightwoods' house there; Isabelle's letting me stay there for a day or two. Care to show me the way?' she asked, and hopefully, he wouldn't deny her that.

He looked surprised.

'I am too. Alec gave me a key to the house. But I don't see why we can't share a house. There are different rooms, and we'll both be out soon.'

_If this is Isabelle's twisted way of setting me up with a suitor, she's gone nuts and almonds and cashews._

'You know what? It's going to seem awfully scandalous. One man, one woman…_alone_. I mean, not that I'm going to try anything on you, but people talk,' he pointed out as Clary mounted Zephyrs, swinging her legs over the horse's back.

'We could always pretend to be husband and wife; I mean Robert bought it, didn't he?' Clary said as both of them rode alongside each other.

'Of course,' he said and guided his horse to walk before Clary's.

* * *

><p>Max Lightwood never really knew what it meant to be <em>kidnapped<em>. He didn't know the meaning of ransom or negotiations. All he knew was that the moment the golden men barged into his room, he had to run. And so he did. Or he tried to. But a nine-year-old boy could not be outrun by the men. He'd gotten all the way to Izzy's chamber and had forcefully knocked on her door. Max saw the men barreling down the corridor and he banged on Izzy's door harder and she answered with a pouty face.

Max dashed into the room and shut the door behind him.

'Izzy, there are—'

A loud thump sounded and Max tried to cower behind Isabelle's skirts but it didn't help; Isabelle wore a loose nightgown.

'Max, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened, okay? Can you do that?' she asked in a hushed whisper, kneeling down so she was his height.

Max nodded. 'I was in my room, reading, and then these gold people came in, Iz. I'm not even kidding. Gold _everything_, Iz. Like, you know those things you all were wearing on your faces today? The ones that covered, like, half of your faces and the rest half was left open? They wore gold ones. And gold armor, Iz. They came in and I was small so I ran from beneath the arm of one of those beefy guys,' Max ranted and by the time he was done, he was out of breath, slumping against Isabelle.

The knocking got louder and louder.

Isabelle cursed under her breath and set Max down on the floor before shuffling over to her small desk beside the door. She pushed the desk against the door, and reached for the bookshelf nearby and pulled it against the desk when the door started giving way.

Isabelle backed away and grabbed Max from where he sat and clawed at the floorboard with her nails desperately. '_Please, please, please_,' she was muttering.

'Izzy, what are—'

'Shh,' she reprimanded, and finally, one of her nails caught on a small raised indent, and she almost broke her nail lifting the board. It was big enough for a child to fit in, and she pushed Max in. His eyes started to fill with tears as Isabelle started to lower the door over him.

'Izzy, please. Don't go,' he begged, but Isabelle had none of it.

She kissed his forehead. 'Don't come out until I tell you to, okay, Max? And you have to stay quiet. No matter what you see or hear,_ do not come out_,' she said, and lowered the door, but not completely. She wedged a piece of folded up paper between the floorboard and the floor so he'd be able to breathe.

Max watched through the opening as Isabelle walked over to the low window and opened it. She ripped the satin curtains and tied it to the windowsill, and he saw how the door broke off its hinges and the desk and bookshelf were pushed aside.

Isabelle stood frozen, staring out the window.

The men rushed inside, most of them flipping over furniture. One of them walked to Isabelle, Max heard him say, 'Where is he? I know he came in here.'

When she didn't answer, he grabbed her by the hair and Isabelle winced. She pointed towards the rope of satin, and the man growled, slamming her head against the wall next to it. 'You stupid, stupid bitch. You think your brother's safety is worth what I'm going to do to you?' he asked, grabbing her by the wrist and tripping her so she was sprawled on the floor.

Isabelle said nothing.

One of the man's companions sauntered up to him. 'Really, Victor? She's a princess, for God's sake.'

The man—Victor—he scrutinized Isabelle, who now lay cowering on the floor in her nightgown. 'She doesn't look like much of a princess now, does she?' he asked. 'Go search the grounds. He won't be that far away. And feed Alexander, Robert and Maryse. His Grace wants them alive, not rotting,' he ordered and his men left the room, leaving Victor alone with Isabelle. 'He never said anything about a princess.'

She screamed. She screamed bloody murder.

'Go ahead. Scream as much as you like. No one's here, _Princess Royal Isabelle Lightwood,_' he sneered.

He held down her thrashing legs with his knees and clamped both her wrists in place with one of his hands.

'_Please don't_,' she pleaded and tears streaked her face.

'No,' he shook his head, 'you don't understand. None of you do. You all think you tower above the rest of us? Maybe you should know what you would be like had you not been born into royalty; had you been forced to live on the streets or sell your body, just like my wife had to, to _your_ father when we were broke. And he _kept_ her; he ordered her to stay to "_satisfy his needs_".' the man made air quoted with one hand. 'Annamarie Highsmith. Ring a bell, Isabelle?' he said, his voice emotionless.

'That was my father's doing, not _mine_. _Please_. Let me go!' she begged, still squirming.

'Most of us pay for the sins of our fathers. Why shouldn't you?' he said as he unbuckled his belt.

And after a while, Max couldn't bear to hear his sister's screams so he turned away towards the darkness. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew it was hurting his sister a lot. He hated it; he hated _them_, the Herondales even though he was way too young to know what hate was.

To him, hatred didn't need to be defined by words from the Thesaurus his tutor bought him. Hatred had its own form. It was _personified_.

* * *

><p>'Seriously, Hunter. If you're tired, we can stop in an inn nearby,' Jace said once again as their horses trotted through the forests in the dark.<p>

'I'm fine,' she snapped.

'Someone's moody,' he commented dryly and Wayfarer nodded. 'See? Even the horse agrees, don't you, Wayfarer?' he asked, petting Wayfarer's mane.

Wayfarer neighed and displayed his teeth.

'That's disturbing,' Hunter said, eyeing Wayfarer.

'What, his smile? Oh please. It's adorable,' Jace said defensively.

Wayfarer's toothy grin became wider; as if to piss off Hunter and prove Jace's point.

'Whatever,' Hunter said and leaned forward on her horse—Zephyrs. She wrapped her arms Zephyrs' neck and his mane acted as a cushion when she leaned forward, the upper half of her body lying atop her horse. She handed Jace the reins and said, 'I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when we reach.' She turned her head to the other side so she was facing away from Jace.

'She's going to have such a sore back in the morning,' he whispered to Wayfarer and Wayfarer nodded.

* * *

><p>Isabelle didn't know how long she lay there on the floor, but when she remembered Max, she supported herself on one elbow, and looked around with bleary eyes. Her throat was hoarse from screaming and shouting.<p>

She clamped a hand on her mouth as a new bout of tears threatened to spill.

She'd imagined her first time to be with someone she loved and someone who'd take care of her. As a princess, she'd been told she'd never have the opportunity to marry someone she loved because she was royalty, and would probably be married off to another prince or ruler. Anyhow, she'd assumed she'd be married, but never like this.

She stared straight at a candle flame, and the burning sensation stopped. She sighed, and got off the floor, stumbling slightly. Everything hurt. She staggered towards the compartment, and pried the door open.

Max lay curled up in a corner, his hands over his ears and eyes shut. Hearing his steady breathing, she realized he was asleep.

She shook him awake, and his eyes opened slowly.

'Izzy? I had a really bad dream,' he said, falling into Isabelle's open arms.

'Oh?' she asked, stroking his back as he sobbed.

'Yes. There were these men. And they were hurting you,' he said and buried his head against her shoulder.

'I'm okay,' she said, and she made a silent vow that Max would never know what happened.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Don't hate me. Actually, the scene with Wayfarer and Clary had no point. I felt sad because of the Isabelle thing and I thought you would feel so too. There wasn't much Clace because the last chapter had all that.**

**Thank you to all those who reviewed. Seriously, seeing an email in my inbox makes my heart leap. Not kidding. **

**So. I love reviews. **

**-Sparrows13**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI, nor do I own Reign, which this is loosely based on. Credit goes to Cassandra Clare and The CW respectively. **

**Beta'd by wood painted flesh. **

**Crossed**

**Chapter 7**

* * *

><p>'This is the Northstar house?' Jace asked, like he didn't quite believe it. The cobblestone path led up to a small house, like the kind Dukes owned. Not grand, but not small either.<p>

There was a fountain spewing water surrounded by hydrangeas and lilies. The house loomed behind them, its roof slanted and the windows made of stained glass.

'The stables are out back,' Clary said, getting off Zephyrs and leading him to the back.

Jace mimicked her actions, and while they walked, Jace asked, 'So, how do you know Isabelle?'

Clary mentally face palmed. Why couldn't he just leave things be? Why did he need a reason for everything that happened?

She sighed. 'Isabelle's been a…friend to me since I was a child. Our fathers knew each other. How do you know Alec?' she asked. It seemed only fair.

Jace seemed to think about it for a while before he said, 'I've known him for quite some time now. My father never approved of me maintaining a friendship with him. He always said that the Lightwoods were never good news.'

Clary was intrigued. 'Why?' she asked as they neared the stables.

The wood of the stables was painted a light blue. The hinges of the doors were rusty, like they hadn't been used in a while. The stables consisted of two open stalls, as if the house wasn't used to many people visiting at once. It probably wasn't. Vines twined around the wooden frame of the stable, dotted with tiny white flowers.

Jace pried open both doors, coaxing Wayfarer into the left one by offering him one of the carrots they'd bought when they'd passed a small town. Zephyrs didn't really protest because he was bone tired.

Clary couldn't believe everything happened in the span of a single day. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she fled her castle. Northstar was considerably close to Idris, so she could see the spires of the Morgenstern castle near the horizon. She felt a pang of homesickness in her gut.

She dug out the key from her coat pocket, and Jace said, 'Because my father didn't like the way Robert was smart and resourceful.'

Clary blinked. 'What?'

He fixed his gold gaze on her, and she felt a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. The butterflies seemed to be drunk and stumbling around.

'You asked me why my father didn't like Robert Lightwood,' he clarified, running a hand through his hair.

The butterflies were definitely out of their minds. Perhaps they were on opium?

'Oh,' she said in a small voice because there wasn't anything else to say, and reached into her coat pocket for the brass key.

Jace held up a copy of the key, and shrugged. 'So…are we going to stay out here and wait for the sun to rise, or…?' he let the sentence hang.

For the first time in a few hours, she realized she hadn't slept in a real bed in a day, if the nap in Izzy's bed didn't count. Somehow, the prospect of a room with a bed and pillows seemed appealing.

They seemed to be thinking the same thing because they made eye contact and then grinned.

'Let's go with the _or_,' Clary said.

* * *

><p>Isabelle and Max had been riding for well over an hour when they finally decided to stop at an inn near Northstar. It was the only one, so she didn't have much of a choice. Her plan to meet up with Clary would have to be delayed. Max was starting to get whiny and sleepy.<p>

She eyed the small cottage-like structure. It looked good enough. It had "Boogie's Tavern and Inn" painted in dark red block lettering on a small arrow sign that pointed towards the inn. What kind of a self-respecting person called themselves _Boogie_?

She dismounted her horse, and helped Max down. She left her horse outside, and hesitated before pushing the door open.

The first thing people would think would be that Max was her son. She wore a red lace gown, and looked respectable enough, but without a man by her side, she knew what their first impressions would be. That she was a whore, who conceived a child through one of her endeavors. If she told them Max was her little brother, she'd be an easy target for people looking for their nightly fuck; a lone woman, unmarried. Till then, Isabelle wasn't aware of how women depended upon men. Now, she knew.

She stood there with Max clinging to her skirts, half asleep, when she felt a tap from behind.

A man stood there, and he looked young; in his twenties, Isabelle guessed. Under the candlelight, Isabelle could see that his hair was a fair blond. Not the golden kind, but the silvery kind. His eyes were a light green and they reminded her of Clary's.

He smiled, and then gestured to the door. 'May I help you? You seem lost.' There was no suggestive tone to his voice; he sounded sincere.

She gave him a small smile and looked down at Max.

'Is he your brother?' he asked, running a hand through his almost-white hair.

'Yes. I—I'm actually unmarried and—'she stopped, and the man seemed to understand as he had an _Ohh_ expression on his face.

He nodded. 'If you'd like, I could get you a room. I mean, so you won't have to answer any questions you may not want to,' he offered, nudging the door open. He held the door open for her, and she slowly stepped in, Max in tow.

'In exchange for what?' she asked, feeling the warmth from the fireplace across the room.

The door had opened to a small living room with a wooden counter set up behind the sofas. A chubby man sat behind the counter in a chair that looked fairly comfortable. He turned his head towards the newcomers and started to lift a hand, but seemed to find it too hard, and settled for a smile instead.

'For getting to know you better,' the man whispered.

_Creepy much?_

'I don't think that'll be necessary,' Isabelle said, and decided she could handle it better.

Men lounged around on the sofas, smoking through pipes and a few of them had bottles of liquor next to them. Many of them looked at her and raised their eyebrows. With a jolt, she realized there weren't any women in the cottage. All of the men were either drunk or on their way there.

The only one who wasn't was the man who ushered her in.

'On second thought, I might take you up on your offer,' she said, and the man smiled. He offered her his arm, and Isabelle took it, dragging Max along.

'My family and I would like a room. With twin beds, please,' he said, motioning towards Max, and Pudgy-because Isabelle wasn't really in a creative mood-nodded.

Pudgy turned and opened a glass case, picking a silver key. He handed it to the man, and grunted out a string of words that sounded a lot like, 'Rate's five gold pieces a night. The fifth room to the right,' pointing to the right corridor.

The blond thanked Pudgy, and led Isabelle towards their room.

'I promise I won't try anything. And isn't it cheaper this way?' he said, as they walked down the musty and dimly lit hall.

'Yes. Thank you,' Isabelle said as she twisted the door knob. The room was painted a dark brown, and there were two plain beds dominating most of the room.

'No problem,' he smiled, and extended a hand. 'I'm Jonathan or Jon as I'm usually called.'

Isabelle took his hand, and shook it. 'I'm Isabelle. And this,' she said, nudging a half-asleep Max, 'is my brother Max.'

Jon nodded. 'Well, I'll get your horse to the stables and I'll be in the tavern if you need anything.' Isabelle waved as he shut the door behind him.

Then she remembered Max, and opened her bag of clothes. She had Max's cotton shirt and light pants.

'Iz, I'm—sleepy,' he murmured and yawned, burying his head in her skirts and plopping down on the floor.

She loved how Max called her "Iz". When Max was small, he couldn't pronounce "Isabelle" properly, so he just called her "Iz" and the name stuck. It reminded her that even though Max was growing up, there'd be some part of him that'd still be her baby brother.

She kissed his forehead. 'Max, change into your pajamas, and then you can sleep, okay?' she asked, pushing his hair back.

'Hmm,' he muttered and took his clothes, disappearing into the restroom.

* * *

><p>That night, Isabelle lay awake with Max fast asleep next to her, and was overcome by how oblivious she had been to what normal life was like. She had been born and brought up among royalty and had enjoyed all the luxuries that came with it. She wondered how Clary managed a day alone and on the run whereas Isabelle doubted herself every other second. It was probably because Isabelle had a child to care for and she always had to put Max's interests before her own.<p>

Isabelle didn't know what it was like to be a mother but she was beginning to get the gist. And maybe she would be a mother in nine months. She was supposed to bleed in another week or so. She wondered how she'd explain the situation to her parents if she was with child.

_What kind of a person enjoys forcing themselves upon someone who's begging for them to stop? What kind of a person enjoys that? Is this what it's like for all those who go to the beds of such men willingly for the chance to feed their family?_

Isabelle felt ashamed. Not at the fact that she was raped, but at the fact that this had been happening in her kingdom for such a long time and she barely noticed it; at the fact that it was happening _inside_ the palace and her own father had been on the other end. For the first time, she didn't feel respect towards her father, but she felt ashamed at calling him her father.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter is for my best friend, T. She's actually the only one of my friends who bothered to check this out, and who actually reads what I write. Other than you guys, of course.**

**Wood painted flesh is amazing. It may seem like I'm saying this for the heck of it, but I'm not. She's actually awesome and I would be cringing at my crappy formatting and errors, if not for her. **

**School started today so I will probably be updating every weekend. Earlier, if possible. I won't bore you with my rants but a test every Monday sucks.**

**Thank you to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed.**

**Also, thank you to Mina Lisly who listened to my rants about my life in general. Her stories are amazing and very original and they're a good read. So. After this, go check out some of them. **

**So. Review this chapter? **

**-Sparrows13**

**Ps. Kudos to xXxNtKxXx for recognising the triangle thing as a tribute to Bastille and fangirling with me over the godliness that is Bastille. Bastille is amazing. No one can tell me otherwise. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns TMI, and The CW owns Reign, which this story is loosely based on.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 8**

* * *

><p>'Divide and conquer,' Jace declared as soon as they heard the <em>click<em> of the lock. They swung open the door, and faced a quaint, quiet room with no light.

Clary frowned. 'The housekeepers haven't been doing their jobs,' she said, stumbling around a bit before her hand came in contact with a dresser of some sort.

'Some help here, Squat?' she asked, had hand searching for the drawer knob.

'Help with what?' he asked, still standing at the threshold. His boots made _thud_ sounds on the wood paneled flooring as he stepped closer. Clary's fingers wrapped around the knob, and she pulled. She pulled out a lamp, and a tinder box.

'Hold this,' she instructed Jace, handing him the lamp. She slid out the tinderbox, and pulled out a small piece of wood, like a splinter. She rubbed it against the dry cloth in the box until there was a tiny spark.

Jace grinned as the piece of wood caught fire, and he removed the glass, so she could fit a candle inside and light it.

'Voila!' she exclaimed and he held up the lantern. She had to stifle a gasp. The golden hue of the candle illuminated his features, casting a glow which made him look leonine. His eyes were solid gold, the likes of which she'd never seen before, and the candlelight made them look paler, like a pastel shade.

She cleared her throat and looked away. 'We should light more of these,' she said.

'Sure, let me just put these away,' he said, gesturing to their bags.

She nodded, watching his muscles flexing when he picked up the bags. She tucked one folded arm beneath her right one, and she bit her right thumbnail. Just because she had no intention of getting married soon didn't mean she was incapable of appreciating people…_visually_. He was well built, and his stance was like that of a trained fencer, as if at the call of _"en garde"_, he would coil into position, ready to spring.

'Hello?' he snapped her out of her day—well, night, really—dream, waving a hand before her face.

'What?' she asked, and saw him holding out her bag.

'Where should I keep this?' he asked and picked up the lamp.

'That room,' she pointed to a random room down the dark corridor. She'd never bothered picking rooms when she stayed with the Lightwoods.

'I'm going to take the lamp because I don't want to stub my toe again,' he grumbled.

Clary didn't want to be left alone in the dark especially because she heard thunder in the distance. She hated thunder, but liked the lightning and the rain. The thunder reminded her of a time she always wished to forget.

She looked up and saw Jace still looking at her, lamp in hand. She nodded and heard him walk away. She was left in the darkness.

She saw a flash of light and for a moment, her heart stopped fractionally when she heard the loud peal of thunder that followed right after.

She heard Lilith's voice taunting and mocking her. She wrapped her arms around her torso and fell onto a sofa nearby, curling up and drawing her knees to her chest. There was a wrenching sort of feeling in her stomach. She rocked back and forth, but it didn't seem to help. She tried taking deep breaths, but they were uneven as she felt restricted and all the memories came crashing down.

* * *

><p><em>Lilith entered the Main Room, clinging to Valentine's arm. Jonathan followed, muttering to himself and clutching a wooden toy soldier her father had given him.<em>

_Clary instantly felt jealous. She was ten years old, and had never gotten a gift directly from her father; just small tokens here and there delivered by maids and ladies. She'd watched as he'd received it earlier that day as his birthday gift. He'd turned eleven that day. Her father's bastard. She'd never hated him; just Lilith. _

_Somehow, Lilith was infatuated with the possibility that Valentine might marry her someday and claim Jonathan publicly, but that never happened. Clary had watched on multiple occasions as Lilith tried to manipulate Valentine by pointing out how useless Clary would be and that Jonathan would make a much better rule. _

_Valentine always swatted away her suggestions, saying that he was too preoccupied and didn't want to infuriate the nobles or the Clave by making a decision that could quite possibly lead to dukes and lords rebelling. Bastardization of children of royal blood and claiming bastards was a very sensitive practice back then. _

_Clary knew all this because she spent more time in the courtroom on her father's lap as he did paperwork and explained terms to her instead of Jonathan. Lilith obviously didn't like the way Valentine pampered his little princess and spoiled her because in her opinion that should've been Jonathan. _

_Jonathan, however, never seemed to care about politics and the workings of the court. He was much more interested in smaller aspects of life, like music and art. Jonathan was nothing like his mother. _

_Clary watched as all the people the table rose, and curtsied. She sat on her chair, swinging her legs and picking at the hem of her sleeve. She felt a sudden tug on her arm, and saw that her maid was silently telling her to stand as well. _

_Clary sighed. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? _

_She stood, slightly tripping over her skirts. Valentine chuckled as he passed by Clary and she bowed. He took his place at the head of the table, and Clary felt quite insignificant as she was seated far away from him. _

_She'd heard of the European princess, Mary Tudor, and how she was neglected by her father when he'd found a new mistress and had another daughter with her. For Clary, Lilith was the Anne Boleyn to her father's Henry, and Jonathan was the Elizabeth, however weird the comparison may seem. Like Mary, she didn't hate her half-sibling, but didn't really like him either._

_But the Tudors were a whole continent away, in Europe. The Shadow Continent had its very own dramatic court, starring Lilith. _

_At either side of Valentine sat Jonathan and Lilith. Lilith turned her slightly towards Clary and gave her a small smirk. _

My fork would look exceptionally good skewered through her face,_Clary thought viciously as she shot Lilith a smile that was pretty bitchy for a ten-year-old. After all, she learnt from the best. _

_Lilith rolled her eyes and looked towards Valentine, giving him a blinding smile, and Clary felt a sudden urge to throw up. _

_Though she was a child, she knew her father was not himself. He never married Lilith but Clary could see Valentine's opinions on smallest matters sway towards what Lilith wanted. _

_Clary had never had a motherly figure, just a constant bustle of maids and ladies. Valentine had tried, on so many occasions, to get Clary to bond with Lilith, and every time when she and Lilith were alone, Lilith made it clear that she was worthless, and that Clary would be sidelined once Lilith married Valentine. And every time, Lilith made Clary feel smaller than she was and Lilith always got into her head, reminding her of what she never had. Lilith coddled Jonathan the way Clary had always wanted to be by her mother, just to spite her. _

_Clary actually thought it was unfair the way Lilith held a grudge against a ten-year-old who felt things she wasn't meant to at such a young age; inferior, a disappointment, useless._

A disappointment_, that was what some dukes and lords called their sons when they refused to follow in their footsteps, opting to pick another profession. Clary knew the meaning of disappointment: A feeling of dissatisfaction caused by one's inability to fulfill their goals, often felt towards others. She'd felt it towards her father when he decided to stay with Lilith even after Jocelyn died, to continue courting the miserable excuse for a human being, for not being able to see how he was held in her vice-like grip. _

_But every time, Clary managed to push those feelings away and tried to be happy for her father. Though that never happened, the possibility that her father could be happy after Jocelyn's death was what made Lilith's presence bearable. That added to the fact that the only thing Lilith didn't have was Valentine as her husband, and probably never would. _

_She watched as Valentine whispered something to a guard, and he nodded, seemingly relaying the message to a maid next to him. She picked up her skirts and hurried over to Clary, and curtsied. _

_'__Your Grace, the King asks for your presence,' she whispered, and Clary nodded. She sighed. This was probably going to end in metaphorical bloodshed and tears. She rolled her eyes, wondering what kind of story Lilith told Valentine to convince him that Clary was the spawn of the devil._

_Clary got up, and walked over to her father, observing that he seemed to be in a good mood. _

_'__Yes, father?' she asked, not really thrilled by the fact that Lilith was probably the reason for his goofy smile. _

_He grinned even wider, and discretely grabbed Lilith's pale left hand and showed it to Clary. _

_She frowned. Why would he want to—and then she saw it. There was a ring on her ring finger and it seemed painfully familiar._

_Her mother's emerald ring set in tiny rubies glinted under the light of chandeliers, looking out of place on Lilith's hand. The ring she'd been promised when she turned eighteen was now Lilith's. It seemed wrong._

_'__Father?' she asked, not quite understanding what he was getting at._

_Valentine raised his eyebrows, and whispered so the others wouldn't hear, 'we're getting married, Clary.'_

_And that was when she lost it and broke down before an audience._

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><p><strong>AN: This is just the first part of the flashback and I know not much is explained but the rest will be in the next chapter. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. I actually got the laptop working for a while (I usually update via phone) and I had no energy to do the whole Google Docs stuff back and forth and italics and bold and all that, so I just typed it and am updating. **

**But it doesn't mean that wood painted flesh is any less amazing. **

**I'm not sure if I wrote the small panic attack the way others have it. I wrote it the way I've had them a couple of times.**

**I'm going to go and learn stuff for my presentation tomorrow because my Chemistry grade kind of depends on it. Ugh. I got four hours of sleep last night, so I'm kind of a train-wreck and I apologize if there are any mistakes. In fact, correct me. I read over it, but I'm not all that great at pointing out my own mistakes. **

**Review?**

**-Sparrows13**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI, nor do I own Reign, which this is slightly based on.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 9**

* * *

><p><em>'<em>_What the hell was that, Clarissa?' Lilith demanded, slamming Clary's large chamber doors behind her. Clary flinched as she heard the loud thunder in the distance cover up the banging sound of the heavy double doors. _

_Clary sat on her bed, and dismissed the last maid who'd been brushing out her hair with her silver hairbrush. The maid curtsied, and mumbled a 'Your Grace,' towards Clary before she timidly passed by Lilith and left the room. _

_Clary swung her legs off the bed, and saw in her vanity mirror that though she'd cleaned her face of tear tracks, her eyes were still red-rimmed. _

_She'd completely broken down in the Main Hall, and Valentine had to usher her to a room nearby and calm her down. They'd agreed to talk about it later. Clary was supposed to go to her father now, but Lilith blocked her way, a ferocious snarl escaping her throat. Clary backed away, and crossed her arms. _

_'__Wh-what do you mean?' she asked, and mentally cursed herself for stuttering. _

_Lilith pointed a sharp-nailed finger towards her, and her glance was predatory. 'You know exactly what you mean, Clarissa,' she hissed in an accusatory tone. _

_Clary frowned. Lilith never seemed to care about Clary's opinion, so Clary didn't understand why her opposing their marriage would put a dent in their plans. _

_'__What do you care?' Clary bit back, and gritted her teeth. God, how she would love to spear her through with one of the swords the guards carried around…and it probably sounded very bloodthirsty coming from a ten-year-old._

_Lilith stepped towards her menacingly and her hands curled into fists. 'I don't, but Valentine does. And I am sure that he'd break this off in a minute if you were to say no. This situation is fragile enough as it is, and I don't need your,' by this point, she'd advanced towards Clary and was poking her, 'childish whim to screw this up.' And by the end of her little speech, her fingers were wrapped around Clary's neck._

_Clary's hand went up to pry off Lilith's hand, but her grip was iron. _

_'__Now, you're going to be a good daddy's girl, and you're going to tell him that the breakdown was for nothing and that you were having a bad day,' she said, not bothering to release Clary. _

_Clary struggled against Lilith's grip, and said, 'Really? And why would I do that, so that you can get some? I'm sure you don't need to be married to get him into bed.' Fueling Lilith's anger wasn't the best option, but it made Clary feel good. _

_Lilith smiled wickedly. 'No, I'm not marrying him to bed him. In fact, can you imagine me loving him?' she sneered, and Clary's blood boiled. _

_How dare she? Lilith had been with Valentine since before she was born. He'd loved both Jocelyn and Lilith and had adamantly refused to let either go when they demanded a decision. He was king, so his word was law. Well, sort of. _

_But some twisted part of her was awed. How had Lilith kept up the charade for so long? _

_'__So, you're marrying him so that you can make him legitimize Jonathan and disown me?' Clary asked, forcing herself to remain calm. _

_Lilith grinned. 'Oh no, if you were disowned, you would be sent away and in exile. It's better for me if you were to be bastardized and at court. Imagine the humiliation,' she said, feigning a shocked expression. By this point, it was getting a little difficult for Clary to breathe; it seemed that with every word, Lilith's grip tightened._

_Thunder rumbled in the distance, adding to Clary's unease. _

_'__So you admit it,' Clary said, clawing at Lilith's hand, trying to get it off, 'that you want to see me humiliated, cast-off, and sidelined? Why? Is it because you know that I'm your only competition here? That I can make Father's opinion swing like this?' she snapped her fingers. _

_Lilith rolled her eyes. Clary was suffocating in earnest now. 'Act happy, bitch. If not…' Lilith trailed off, letting the sentence hang. _

_'__If not, what?' Clary questioned, starting to panic on the inside. It was getting difficult to breathe. Lilith frowned. _

_'__Well, isn't this proof enough of how I can get to your chambers without anyone knowing?' she asked, her dark eyes glinting and her free hand drawing a dagger from her pocket. She placed the blade against the skin under Clary's ear, where it was the tenderest, and drew it downwards. Clary started, and grabbed Lilith's hand, but it only added to the pressure. _

_She screamed as loud as she could. _

_Lilith smiled. 'Funny, isn't it? The wonders bribes can do,' she said, pulling the blade away. 'Consider this a warning.' _

_'__I ca—' just as Clary was about to give in, the door opened slightly, and Clary saw her father standing at the doorway. He was shaking his head, his hand at the sword at his waist. _

_He drew the sword, and said, 'Lilith. If you don't let go of Clarissa now, God help me, I will run you through with the sword right here.' _

_Lilith gasped, spinning on her heel. Her grip loosened enough for Clary to grab her wrist and bend it backwards. She heard a definitive _crack _and felt strangely satisfied. Ironically, Jonathan had taught her the move. _

_Lilith let out an ear-piercing shriek, and fell to her knees, cradling her broken wrist. _

_'__Guards!' Valentine commanded, and Clary's room was infiltrated by men in silver armor and it was all a blur for Clary as two of the men hauled Lilith to her feet, as she struggled. _

_The blade of Valentine's sword was tucked underneath Lilith's chin as he said, 'Lilith, I charge you with treason against the royal family. You are sentenced without trial, to death.' He said all this without a waver in his voice. _

_Clary saw Lilith give up her fight. 'Jonathan?' she asked, a sliver of regret in her eyes. _

_Valentine shut his eyes. 'Lilith, the things you've done…they're too severe to forgive,' he started but Lilith cut him off. _

_'__No, just tell me Jonathan will be fine. I know the things I've done are horrible. I know it, but someone else, someone innocent shouldn't suffer for what I've done.'_

_'__What about Clarissa? She was innocent. She suffered. Because of what _you _did. How is she an exception?' he demanded fiercely through gritted teeth. _

_'__You—' she started, realizing. _

_Valentine scoffed. 'You've mentally abused her, Lilith. It was why she broke down, today, wasn't it? I'm not stupid. You hurt her somewhere it wasn't visible. Why?'_

_Lilith's eyes shone with unshed tears. 'You love her more than me, more than Jonathan. Isn't that reason enough?'_

_Valentine opened his eyes and shook his head slowly. 'I can't divide my love. I've told you that time and again. And if part of it isn't enough, nothing will be. For you, that is,' he said, and then, 'Guards, take her away. And make it fast.' _

_Clary knew he didn't mean taking her away; he meant her death. _

_Thunder sounded, and Clary winced. _

_Just before Lilith was dragged out, he said, 'Jonathan will be fine. He'll be in exile.' _

_The last Clary saw of Lilith was Lilith nodding, and then saying, 'I love you,' to Valentine._

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><p>Clary found herself in a very comfortable position when she broke out of her shit-fest. She felt strong arms surrounding her, rocking her back and forth. She found it calming.<p>

But then she noticed the gold tan. She looked up to see Jace's worried gold eyes trained on hers, and carefully pushed him away by applying pressure where her hands were on his chest.

'You were really out of it,' he said, and Clary scoffed.

'I think I know,' she replied before standing up and smoothing her skirts. Her panic attacks usually lasted a few minutes, and then she calmed down.

She still wore the ball gown, and it was getting extremely uncomfortable. The blue sequins were caked with dust, as they'd travelled for a long time.

She felt Jace's stare as she turned away from him, and shrugged off her coat. She turned around, and loosened her braided hair before letting it fall. Jace's eyes seemed to darken considerably and she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

She smiled a little, and felt good to know that she had the same effect on him that he sometimes had on her.

'You should go to your room, Hunter,' he said in a somewhat husky voice.

Clary gave him a teasing smile. 'Why, do you think you won't be able to control your urges?' she asked, grinning.

He chuckled and shook his head. 'No, not that. You're respectable, aren't you?'

Clary rolled her eyes, and then pointed to the lacing of her corset. 'I can't untie it myself. Isabelle did it for me,' she said.

Jace didn't seem to understand before Clary huffed in annoyance. 'I mean, unlace it.'

His eyebrows rose and he pointed to himself. 'Me?'

'No, your horse; I hear Wayfarer is the best maid in the kingdom,' she said sarcastically.

Jace was hesitant as he got up, and stood behind her. He swept her hair to one side, and she felt his breath warm on the nape of her neck. She had to suppress a shudder as she felt his fingers brush the skin above the corset.

As his fingers slowly pulled at the lace, she felt him bend his head. His lips ghosted over the side of her neck.

He gave another tug, and Clary felt the corset loosen. At the same time, his lips moved towards the skin between her neck and shoulder. She held her breath as she felt a jolt and her eyes fluttered shut of their own accordance.

Jace's fingers tightened and he coiled the lace around his fingers and pulled. The corset loosened completely, and the dress pooled at her feet, leaving Clary in a white silk chemise which fell till her ankles.

Clary turned her head, and Jace's lips brushed her shoulder and then her neck one last time before he stepped back.

Clary stood there, surrounded by fabric, and stunned by what happened. It was inappropriate on so many levels, but what stuck with her was that how much she wanted it to be _appropriate_.

She sighed, and turned back to reprimand him, but she saw he was already gone, the sound of his boots sounding far-away as he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor on the side opposite Clary's room.

She shut her eyes. _Whatever it was, it shouldn't have happened._

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><p><strong>AN: *Le sigh* Clace... **

**A huge thank-you to xXxNtKxXx who helped me with this chapter with the whole Lilith stuff because I drew a blank every time, and to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed. Your reviews make my day(s). **

**A thank you to the Guest named Apple Bear who is awesome because she is one of my best friends. **

**This is unbeta'd, because I've been having some issues with the computer and laptop and just stuff, but wood painted flesh is awesome as ever. Forgive me, if there are any errors of any sort.**

**I think not many liked the last chapter so...sorry? I don't know.**

**Review?**

**-∆relia**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI nor do I own Reign, which this is loosely based on. **

**Crossed**

**Chapter 10**

* * *

><p>Clary groaned as she sat up in her bed, and then plopped back onto the fluffy cushions. They seemed to be radiating <em>sleepiness. <em>One look at them and all plans could screw themselves.

She looked around, and then raised her arms to get up a little before deciding she wanted to spend the day in bed, and then let them fall. The warm comforters seemed inviting and she yawned, willing herself to go to sleep because she felt wrecked.

And then she remembered where she was. Again, her day started greatly, and then the mind-fucking reality set in. As she lay there, she felt shocked at how she'd gotten away with so much. She felt that if she closed her eyes, she'd wake up in the real world, and that the whole last day would've been a dream.

Opening her eyes, she saw that she was still in her room at the Northstar manor. The lace curtains fluttered where the arched windows opened, and her bag of clothes was propped up against the window seat.

She sighed and forced her limbs to move and get off the bed. The bed looked so lonely now that Clary wasn't on it. She felt light, like she'd slept in her chemise.

She gasped, and her arms went up of their own accord to cover her torso. Her gaze shifted across the room till it fell on her discarded dress lying in a heap in a corner. The sparkly blue had been dulled because of mud, and the cream panels were dust-covered. The lace of the corset was missing, and then she remembered.

_So…this is going to be awkward. Why is it that every time we're together, something happens which leads to me thinking it's going to be awkward? _

Her silk gown was thin, and she felt cold. She saw the dust motes floating whenever a stream of sunlight passed through the grey clouds. It was drizzling slightly outside, and Clary schlepped over to the window seat and threw herself onto the plush cushions. She pulled the curtains back.

The mountains rose in the distance, and Clary could see some peaks covered in glacial ice. It was said that if one concentrated, they could see the ice sheets move ever so slowly, like time.

She saw a tiny, minuscule puff of smoke rising from a chimney if she squinted. Maybe she'd go there tomorrow. The area was beyond the Herondales' jurisdiction, and also the Morgensterns'. The forests in the mountains belonged to no one. She could live in the forests, in a tiny cottage, but the idea didn't seem all that appealing because Clary wasn't a grandma. She wasn't fifty, and old and delirious and knitting caps in a little cottage, sitting in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace.

The opening iron gates caught her gaze, and she panicked slightly, as she seemed to do most of the time, now. But she calmed down soon enough on seeing Jace drop himself off of Wayfarer's back. The sky was a grey so it was difficult to see the position of the sun, but if Clary had to guess, she'd say it was about eleven in the morning. Where had he been?

She watched him walk up the cobblestone path, tugging his protesting horse behind him and disappearing towards the back—to the stables.

She leaned her head against the stone windowsill, and closed her eyes. Another reason why she hated thunder tugged at the corner of her mind.

Clary clearly remembered the first lesson her father taught her on how to rule a country—how to kill someone, be it for justice or as a means to an end.

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><p><em>Clary stood before her father, a good distance away from the chopping block. She didn't want to do it, but her father didn't really present her with another option. <em>

_Her hands kept knotting into her blue skirt, and then she frowned, smoothing it out. She felt nauseous and slightly dizzy as she clutched her father's sleeves. She felt his huge hand envelop her own as she tried to look up towards the sky, but only saw the hood of one of those decorative umbrellas held by a servant. She saw lightning flash, followed by a low rumble. She winced as she remembered a scene four years ago._

_'__It has to be done, Clarissa' he said as they waited for the prisoner to be bought before the king, ask to pay his debt—though that was only formality—and then be beheaded._

_'__Why?' she asked, because she didn't understand why a person's head needed to be detached from his body for him to pay his debt. _

_Valentine sighed. 'Because, Clarissa, not all people are all that…' he seemed to be searching for a word before he finally said, 'nice.'_

_'__What has he done that you feel the need to sentence him to death?' Clary asked. She was fourteen, so she knew what happened when a man was sentenced to be simply hanged, drawn and quartered or beheaded. Though she didn't know how serious the crime had to be for them to get such a punishment. _

_Valentine seemed to contemplate whether to tell her or not and then, he said, 'He murdered a family, Clary. An entire family,' his eyes flashed, 'poisoned.'_

Oh _Clary thought. She wrung her hands together, unsure of what to say. They lapsed into silence, and Valentine stood motionless as ever when a cuffed and shackled prisoner was dragged to the back courtyard by two guards. _

_His dark hair was tangled and his face was caked with dirt, the occasional stream of blood trickling from cuts no doubt inflicted by the guards. His white cotton shirt was torn at places, though his pants were thankfully intact. He was barefoot, and Clary could see the tiny shards sticking out from beneath when he walked by her. He seemed miserable. _

_The guards pushed him down on the ground a respectable distance from her father. _

_'__What is your name?' Valentine asked in a voice devoid of emotion. _

_The man looked up towards him, his dark eyes filled with rage. 'Like you care, your royal Assiness,' he said very boldly. _

_Valentine locked his jaw so tightly that Clary could almost hear the squeak of his teeth clashing against each other. His hands were balled into fists. One of the guards used the butt of his sword to jab the prisoner on his back. _

_'__David,' the prisoner said, finally. _

_'__And I'm sure you're aware of the crime you are being executed for,' Valentine said, his gaze locked on the prisoner's. _

_'__Yes. Best kill I've made in a decade. Oh my, they were so, so vulnerable. A little girl, I remember, shrieked for her mother while the poison consumed her, and her mother didn't even come to save her. Because she was dying as well,' the man said with a malicious glint to his eyes. His lip curled back and he bared his teeth. _

_Apparently Valentine had had enough, because he snapped his fingers. 'Take him to the block,' he ordered and looked slightly green. Clary wondered how many times he'd done this._

_'__Yes, your Grace,' one of the guards said as he dragged David over to the block and tripped him so he fell on his knees, his head falling on the indent. The French swordsman stood behind him, his ax polished and sharpened to the point where the tip gleamed._

_Thunder rumbled overhead as the executioner asked, 'Any last words?' _

_The man, David, made a big show of scrunching up his face, as if in deep thought and then said, 'Damn you Morgensterns. Damn you all—'_

_Before he could get another word out, the ax fell over his neck and Clary looked away. A sickening noise sounded throughout the courtyard as the man took gasping breaths, and then died._

_Clary's breakfast churned in her stomach, and her hand went up to her mouth. _

_'__This was just a guilty man, Clarissa,' Valentine said, 'You'll have to learn to put down a few innocents as well, for the greater good. Know that I'm not asking you to become a killer. You just have to be willing to do everything and anything to put down those who oppose you. And if an extreme measure means killing someone who crosses your path, then so be it.' _

_Clary knew she shouldn't provoke Valentine right now, but she couldn't help it. 'The Herondales seem to be an exception. Why haven't you "put them down" yet?' she asked, making quote marks in the air. _

_Valentine's eyes darkened to a darker black than usual as he replied, 'You do not poke into what you know nothing of, Clarissa. This may raise unwanted questions if said in front of anyone else. You will learn this with time.' He nodded his head, and then adjusted his cape on one side before walking away. _

_Clary remained behind with her maid as the guards hauled up the prisoner's body. __Drops fell from the sky, and mixed with the trail of blood left by the guards._

_'__Why is the sky crying, Madelyn?' Clary asked as she watched the drops fall faster and faster._

* * *

><p>She snapped out of her memory as she heard a knock on her door. She frowned.<p>

The door was open. Jace stood leaning against the doorway, turning a fruit over in his hands, his head bowed and his gold hair falling into his eyes. 'I got you breakfast from a little village nearby. Thought you'd be hungry,' he said, gesturing towards the dining room.

'You thought right,' Clary said and then looked down towards her skimpily covered torso and legs. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him meaningfully.

He cleared his throat. 'I'll be in the dining room.'

* * *

><p>Clary seated herself in one of the plush chairs in the dining room and plucked an apple from the basket. She had dressed simply in a white silk gown and her hair was up in a bun. Under her skirts, she wore laced up boots.<p>

Jace sat slumped in a chair, and winced every now and then. He was slicing a mango with a knife and trying to get comfortable in his seat.

'Okay, stop. It irks me to see someone fidgeting at the table,' she said finally, slamming her hand on the table. Jace jumped.

'God, calm it, mother,' he scoffed.

'You're clearly not comfortable,' she pointed out, and he nodded.

'Wayfarer kicked me on my shoulder. I think it's going to bruise,' he said, shrugging, but then grimaced. 'Ouch.'

Clary raised her eyebrows. 'Already at each other's throats? I thought your love was true,' she said, mocking.

He rolled his eyes. 'It is. He just thought I was someone else.'

'So what you're saying is that your horse would've kicked me? Because there isn't anyone else here,' she said, motioning to their furnished surroundings.

Jace said nothing, just gingerly touched the shirt above where his wound probably was.

'Take off your shirt,' Clary said, getting up from her chair.

Jace arched a brow. 'Well, I never! I think I made a wrong first impression. I'm saving myself for someone special. And I never thought of you as a forward woman.'

Clary glared at him as she shuffled over to where he sat at the gigantic table. 'I meant, I'm great at treating wounds. Show me.'

He sighed dramatically. 'If you must,' he said, and then his shirt was off in a graceful motion.

Her eyes would've bulged out of their sockets and rolled across the floor had she not had self-control.

His chiseled muscle contours stood out against his gold tan, and Clary imagined what it would feel like to—_okay, no. Just no._ Her toes curled, and she eyed his perfect, drool-worthy abs. They seemed so…_gold_.

In fact, _he _seemed gold. She'd usually thought of Herondales whenever she saw gold, but now, she couldn't bring herself to think of those bastards, because in front of her stood the very incarnation of Adonis. His eyes looked like the color of syrup when a single ray of sunlight fell over his eyes and hair through the open window.

Then her gaze shifted towards the purple bruise. It was indeed shaped like a hoof. She laughed. 'Wow…I never would've thought Wayfarer had it in him,' she admitted.

Jace feigned a look of hurt. 'Please. He's _my_ horse. Of course he has it in him.'

She rolled her eyes and the gesture made her lock her eyes on a chain that hung from his neck. A ring was suspended from it, and then she felt her stomach plunge.

The ring had an _H_ etched into it, a pattern of herons on each side of the band. And the ring seemed painfully familiar because she'd seen it so many times.

_Stupid, stupid…Why didn't you think of that possibility? _

As she was about to back away, a loud and impossible heavy thud sounded on the door. She shut her eyes, as a sense of helplessness overwhelmed her. She _hated_ feeling that way.

_Oh my God…they're here. And he's a…He set me up. And I fell for it. They're going to take me away._

Clary backed away, and Jace looked at her in confusion before walking to the door. She shook her head. She wanted to run, but her feet were frozen in place.

Jace swung the door open, and was met with a small army of men clad in gold armor. Dread filled every fiber of Clary's being as she remembered the last time she'd seen so many men. The night her father and Simon died.

Jace also seemed to be frozen because his face became emotionless. 'Jonathan,' a soldier acknowledged and Clary's heart sank. Surely he wasn't _the_ Jonathan.

'Your father has been looking for you. We should've known you were _here_. Lightwood's place. You're here with some whore aren't you? We know you can't stay away from the palace for more than a day. Let's go back and talk about this in Alicante.'

Clary wanted to bang her head repeatedly on a wall of concrete. Her eyes almost filled with tears as she took a deep breath.

The man leaned forward, and Clary's red hair caught his eye.

He grinned. 'Two birds with one stone. Princess Clarissa, isn't it?' He cocked his head. His grin widened and his blue eyes glinted. 'Get her,' he commanded his men.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So...I updated this weekend :) And ten chapters? I've never stuck to a story long enough for it to have ten chapters, be it FF or original.**

**This is unbeta'd and the next few chapters will probably be unbeta'd because my schedule is becoming hectic now, and I won't have time to send, recieve and change fonts. Cause exams are coming up. Ugh.**

**Also, I got so many reviews this past week, and I'm so happy! To the guest Twofu, you're awesome and you know it :) Thanks to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed. Also, thank you to xXxNtKxXx who is generally awesome. I just felt like mentioning it.**

**Okay...this chapter was longer than what I usually write and if there are any mistakes, point it out. Also, this chapter might be slightly crappy but eh...it's two in the morning here. **

**-Sparrows13**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 11**

* * *

><p>Clary's senses seemed to kick in— the adrenaline or the idea that her life might be in danger, she'd never know—and she spun on her heels, hitching up her skirt before dashing towards the dark archway leading to the corridor that always seemed to be dimly lit. It was probably because no one really took care of the manor.<p>

As the corridor never seemed to end, Clary heard the sound of heavy boots grow closer and closer until she was running. She was too slow; one of the guards stepped on her skirt, effectively tripping her and sending her sprawling across the floor.

No matter what happened, Clary wouldn't beg. She wouldn't stoop that low. The man held up a pair of shackles and grinned triumphantly, his boot still pinning Clary to the floor.

'Princess Clarissa Morgenstern, you are under arrest as per the King's orders,' the man said, grabbing hold of her thrashing arms and struggling to fix the cuffs on her wrists.

'And what is my crime?' she asked, incredulous.

She could practically see the man's smile in his voice though she was on her stomach on the floor.

'You are charged with the murder of Lady Camille Belcourt. You aided and abetted a crime with His Grace Jonathan Herondale.'

Clary's blood froze, and she thought, _What the actual fuck? Me? _'I don't even _know_ her,' she protested as the man hauled her up to her feet with brute force. He held her in front of him so she'd be in his line of sight.

'I don't question the king's decisions, and I suggest you don't either from now on, seeing how _your_ country is under his regency for now,' the man said.

Her muddled mind registered the word 'regent'. Of course there'd be a regent. She wasn't of age, just sixteen. She had to be seventeen to claim the throne. But she didn't know the Clave had appointed Stephen as the regent after what he'd done. He'd killed another king in cold blood.

_Oh_, Clary realized, a rather disturbing smile flitting across her face.

The Clave didn't know. They didn't know Stephen had Valentine _murdered_. The laws of the Clave stated that a king could only kill another as long as the other was armed. And Clary was willing to bet everything she had that Valentine was unarmed. A king had to challenge another in battle; Stephen didn't do that. And a king had to kill another himself; Stephen forgot that one.

God knew what lies Stephen fed the Clave. Clary could see how twisted Stephen was. He'd fabricated tales just to get his son and Clary. She saw how ingenious the plan was. He'd wanted both back, so he framed both. Two birds with one stone indeed.

As she was pulled against her own will towards the entrance of the manor, she stole a glance towards Jace who seemed expressionless as two soldiers held him back. A feeling of hatred welled in her.

'You _son of a bitch_!' Clary seethed as she was hauled down the porch steps. Jace stood before the carriage, flanked by even more soldiers. Clary saw him wince almost imperceptibly.

One of the soldiers jerked the door open and didn't even bother to place a pedestal before it before they picked her up bridal style and dumped her on the seat.

'Get in, prince,' he ordered Jace, pointing to the seat opposite Clary. Clary observed his actions as Jace gingerly grabbed hold of the low roof and swung himself into the carriage opposite Clary. He made no eye contact with her, instead choosing to turn his head towards the window, watching the still scenery from behind the fluttering lace curtains.

Clary held back any bitter words for until the carriage started moving, all the soldiers flanking it on horseback. The carriage moved and Clary felt the familiar rolling sensation of the wheels beneath the floor panel. She could make a run for it by unlatching the emergency hatch under her seat, if not for the equestrians following them.

Finally, as they were passing the main town of Northstar and gaining incredulous looks from the townsfolk, Clary decided to say something. She looked towards Jace, silently willing for him to do the same. She felt her eyes sting as she struggled not to burst into hysterics.

'You set me up, didn't you?'

* * *

><p>Isabelle woke up to Max clinging to her like a lifeline, and gentle snores from the bed next to her. She stared up at the wooden ceiling and heard the fire cackling in the fireplace, illuminating the room which was dark because the black velvet drapes were pulled across the windows.<p>

Jonathan must've left the fire burning last night as Isabelle had let it burn because he might be cold when he came back. And also because she was too lazy to get up from the bed.

She carefully removed Max's death grip from her arm and sat up, careful not to let Max tumble over. She stretched and then turned her head to see Jonathan sleeping on the bed next to hers, on his stomach with his head turned towards her.

Isabelle smiled slightly. A strand of his hair fell across his face, flopping up and down with every breath he took. He snored lightly. Isabelle swung her legs over the bed and felt her feet make contact with the wooden flooring. The hem of her nightgown fluttered at her ankles, tickling her.

She let out a mirthless giggle and saw Jonathan stir a little before turning over. She tilted her head and her lips turned up at the corners, a small smile. It was something, as she hadn't really smiled since last evening. She took a deep breath, and ran her hands through her hair, untangling it.

'Sleep well?' a drawling voice inquired and she jumped as she felt an arm on her shoulder.

She flinched noticeably sharply and felt the hand withdraw.

Jonathan leaned over from his bed; his hand suspended mid-air and looked stunned. His mouth opened, and then closed.

She looked downwards, ashamed that she recoiled from such a small gesture; it meant she let what the soldier did get to her.

She straightened up and folded her hands neatly in her lap. 'Please don't touch me unless I ask you to,' she said to him, turning away.

He looked confused and then nodded. 'But you took my arm when I offered it to you yesterday,' he said, propping himself up on one elbow. Isabelle saw that he wore a very loose linen shirt whose drawstrings were open and provided her with a very appealing view of his chest, porcelain and hard-looking.

She tore her gaze from him and focused on Max. 'That was because I knew I was touching you. Unwarned, I can't—' she choked on her words.

She looked back at him, begging for him to understand what she was trying to say. She didn't know why she wanted someone to know. Even though she wanted to keep it a secret, she couldn't keep it in. She had to tell _someone_. She wanted someone, wanted someone to confide in, even if that someone was a stranger whom she'd never see again. In fact, that option was the best _because_ she'd never see him again.

His eyes widened. Apparently, he _did_ understand because he nodded.

'I—' he started to say but Isabelle cut him off.

'Don't say you understand. Because I'm sure you don't,' she said. She knew she might've sounded rude.

Jonathan sighed. 'I'm sure you just told me that because you thought you'd never see me again,' he said matter-of-factly.

Isabelle nodded, and traced a finger down Max's sleeping face. 'Yes.'

Jonathan rested his chin on the palm of his hand. 'I was born out of wedlock. My mother was raped by a…very powerful man. And then when I was conceived, my father kept my mother around because he felt like there was a possibility that I could be a boy. And at the time, he yearned for a son because of lots of pressure from his friends and the nobles—'

'Nobles?' Isabelle asked, suspicious.

Jonathan seemed like a frantic deer for a while before he said, 'His friends. You know, nobles. Anyhow,' he continued, 'he kept my mother around and as bad as this may sound coming from her son, she was a very scheming woman.'

Jonathan stretched across his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Isabelle pulled up her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, locking her arms around her legs like a little child.

'She could see he was falling in love with her, so she pulled his strings and manipulated him. She used seduction and all that,' Jonathan waved a hand, 'to get herself the position of his mistress, and who was my father to refuse?'

'So naturally, his wife was as mad as fucking bulls deprived of food. So they made him choose. He didn't. And one day, my father's wife was found dead. Died of illness, some said. But I think I knew better. And I'm willing to bet that illness had nothing to do with her death.'

Isabelle looked horrified, her eyes as big as saucers. But Jonathan went on.

'So my father was left with me, my mother and my half-sister, his wife's daughter. That was when he decided to honor his wife's wishes and name my sister as his legitimate heir,' he said, his eyes unfocused on the slopes of the ceiling.

'One day, my mother was found guilty of something, and was hung. For treason, people say. And my father died recently. A few days ago, in fact. I was on my way to Idris for his funeral,' he ended his story.

Isabelle was confused. 'Why are you telling me with all this?' she asked with a small voice.

He turned his head to the side and gave her a genuine, brilliant smile. 'Because you're not the only one carrying weights of shitty lives around, Isabelle,' he said and shut his eyes. After a while, Isabelle heard his breathing even out, and he was asleep once again.

* * *

><p>'You set me up, didn't you?' Hunter's—<em>Princess Clarissa's<em>—voice rang out, causing him to look up at her.

_He_ was the one who set _her_ up? He himself had been told to stay the Northstar house! He was about to snap at her before he remembered something which made his blood run cold.

He remembered Alec handing him a brass key the night of the ball—just last night. He remembered Alec warning him of his father's soldiers and of urging Jace to go away and seek refuge at _his_ manor at Northstar. And then he wondered how the soldiers knew of their location.

_Alec?_

No, he wouldn't. Because Jace had made sure that no one had followed him to the stables, so it definitely couldn't have been a Herondale soldier who reported his men of Jace's whereabouts. Alec was the only one who knew where Jace was going.

Jace hung his head. 'No, I didn't set you up, Hunter,' he said. 'I _definitely _didn't set _us_ up. Someone else did.'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dun dun dun! Sorry for the cliffie last time. And this one, too. Gosh, I'm evil. Also, for those of you who might be confused, the Clave is the highest power, kind of like the Vatican was.**

**Thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter! 19 reviews? You people are amazing. I replied to all reviews, and if I missed any, I acknowledge that you are equally amazing. And the Guests, too.**

**Also, I recently wrote a one-shot called 'Loved-Past Tense'. Check it out? **

**This is unbeta'd yet again...so all mistakes are mine. Point 'em out if there are any.**

**I finished reading Young Elites by Marie Lu and I am dying because damn it! It was so good. I have to wait for so many months for the second book now. I hate my best friend (not really). She made me read it and get addicted to it. **

**Also, xXxNtKxXx is awesome because her autocorrect is amazing. Yes. **

**Review? Because I procrastinated my English homework for Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare for this :)**

**-Sparrows13**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI or its characters. Hence, the fanfiction.**

**Crossed**

**Chapter 12**

**PS. Don't kill me yet, Jonabelle shippers.**

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><p>Clary looked at him like he'd grown a beard. Not really caring, but somehow disgruntled—because he wouldn't really look all that good with a beard.<p>

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' she scoffed, folding her arms and slumping back into her seat.

Jace sighed and slid his fingers through his hair, tugging at them in frustration. 'Alec? Isabelle? I made sure I wasn't followed. I looked back every fucking second and I made sure all the fuckingly shitty assholes of the soldiers were in the ballroom, in one place when I left. And who else knows our whereabouts?' he questions, his arms flailing about.

Clary rolled her eyes. 'Do _not _try and pin this on Isabelle,' she said sharply and she saw understanding in Jace's eyes.

He cocked his head and quirked a brow. 'I see you're very protective of your friend there,' he said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

Clary guffawed and looked at him incredulously. 'It's because she is my _friend_, Jace. Do you even know the meaning of the term? Because if you did, you wouldn't be so eager to blame _your_ supposed friend,' Clary pointed out.

Jace's gaze hardened. 'Alec has often made be doubt his loyalty. I know he is a good friend but his priorities seem to lie elsewhere. I don't know if I can trust him anymore,' he said.

Jace looked back at her and played with his ring on his chain, an action which made her want to hurl the ring out of the window and not care if it hit someone's head or fell into someone's open mouth and they choked if it meant she never had to see it again.

Clary shook her head. 'But he _isn't_ working for Robert, Jace. He can't be. Because hello? These are Herondale soldiers who found us. But then...that means—' she was cut off by Jace who was nodding.

'It means he's working for _Stephen_,' he said and then scoffed. 'One person whom Stephen hadn't turned against me…turned against me,' he said with a sort of tone which implied he kind of knew it was going to happen, but hadn't _really _thought it would.

Clary shook her head. 'You say he's your friend? You don't know its meaning. In fact, your relationship with Alec is not a friendship if you think of him that way. It's just companionship. If he really were your friend, you'd trust him enough to think he wouldn't betray you. How fucking thickheaded are you?' she asked, crossing her arms.

Jace cocked a brow. 'Bringing out the big words, I see,' he observed, obviously choosing to ignore what she said.

After that, they lapsed into a silence which was left unbroken till they fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Jonathan lay awake on his bed, facing the ceiling as he heard the whipping sounds of the lace of Isabelle's corset loop through holes and then be tightened. Isabelle cursed loudly and she heard him chuckle.<p>

'What are you laughing about?' she asked him as she finally tied the loose pieces into a knot and then shrugged on a violet silk dress, tugging the sleeves up her shoulders. It was a typical Tudor era kind of dress, with a squared neckline and elaborate, trailing sleeves. In the city of Northstar, the dresses were common, so Isabelle felt she'd fit right in.

Max was curled up in a corner next to Jonathan's bed after being forced into breeches and a blue waistcoat by Isabelle, reading some book.

Jonathan shook his head, and leaned back against the headboard of his bed. 'When are you leaving?'

'Ready to get rid of me so soon?' Isabelle asked lightly, braiding her hair into a loose braid and then pinning it up into a bun. A few loose, straight strands framed her face, making her look pixie-like.

Jonathan's face fell. 'No! Not at all. I was asking because I was going to ask you if you'd have breakfast with me,' he said, almost shyly.

Isabelle was taken aback. She was about to refuse, but then glanced towards Max.

_The things I do for you, Max_, she thought and nodded at Jonathan before she slipped on white lace gloves.

She saw Jonathan had already washed up and was in a loose cotton shirt with the front tied loosely and wore black breeches similar to Max's. But where Max wore a waistcoat, Jonathan wore a doublet and was lacing up his boots.

Jonathan saw her nod and his face lit up, and his green eyes sparkled. His hair was messy like he had rolled out of bed—which he kind of had. He got off his bed and plucked the book from Max's grasp.

'Hey!—' Max started to say and then looked up towards the offender before his expression softened. 'Oh, it's you,' he said and then nodded, 'you can read.'

Isabelle feigned a hurt expression. 'Oh? And why am _I_ always chased down till the ends of the earth when I ask you to stop reading?'

Max seemed to consider it and then cocked his head. 'Because Jonathan is _reading_ it, not threatening to burn it in the fireplace,' Max pointed out as Jonathan kneeled before Max and started lacing his boots, like he'd been doing it for ages.

Max took his book back and resumed reading.

Isabelle took in the scene, a peculiar feeling washing over her. It seemed like a normal, middle classed family. She'd dreamed of such simplicity for such a long time that it seemed as if it'd remain that way—as a dream. But right before her eyes was Jonathan, the embodiment of her dream husband. Somehow, the possibility seemed far-away. And obviously, it wasn't possible—not with Jonathan. She'd _just_ met him, and it was kind of unnatural to have such expectations.

She was snapped out of her thoughts as Max tugged on her skirts, his blue eyes trained on hers and said, 'I'm hungry.'

Isabelle ruffled his hair and Jonathan held the door open for her.

* * *

><p>'Oh please, I found myself, okay? What makes you think I haven't?' Jonathan asked through a mouthful of bread.<p>

Isabelle cringed. 'Can you please not talk while eating? It's disgusting,' she said, sounding annoyed.

Jonathan grinned and then swallowed his chunk.

'God, I see you found an appetite. I mean, look at that thing,' Isabelle mused, pointing to his hunk of chicken as she stabbed her fork into her smaller piece.

Jonathan faked an appalled look, his hand over his heart. 'You have no respect for food. Look at you, practically butchering yours,' he countered.

Isabelle ignored him and peeled an orange instead. 'How does an encounter with a lion help one find themselves?' she asked, interested.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. 'I almost had my balls bitten off by a lion. I think that triggered a thought on how I wouldn't have been able to have children who'd inherit my amazing looks and abilities, and so I stopped working for the zoo keeper. And I decided I'd travel,' he ended with a flourish, his arms wide.

'Sure,' Isabelle smiled, vaguely irritated at having to peel off the white things on the orange pieces.

'How can your balls be bitten off?' Max interrupted from across the table, causing Jonathan to choke on his piece of orange he'd stolen from Isabelle.

Isabelle's eyes widened. 'They can't, Max-just go back to reading or something' she said, flustered.

Max nodded and went back to reading a book, but smiling.

Isabelle set her form down. 'I think we should get going,' she told Jonathan, 'but thank you so much for all you did.'

Jonathan nodded. 'Anytime, m'lady,' he mock saluted her before saying, 'I'll help you with your bags.'

'Thank you,' Isabelle said. 'Max, stay here and we'll be back in a couple of minutes,' she told Max and Max nodded, not bothering to raise his head.

* * *

><p>As Isabelle shut the door behind them, she saw Jonathan shake his head from where he stood next to the window, gazing at the mountains in the distance.<p>

Isabelle bent before the bed, starting to pull out the bags when she heard Jonathan say, 'You know, Isabelle, you should really not trust strangers,' and her blood ran cold.

'Wh—what do you mean?' she asked, and then cursed herself for stuttering. She felt his hands brush her hair away from her shoulder and she flinched sharply, her head hitting his.

'Don't,' she said, her voice strained as she struggled to stay calm. She forced herself not to turn around. How could she be so _dumb_ after what happened? The answer was simple—because she wanted so badly for someone to understand that she overlooked any other thing.

'I like you, Isabelle, but I don't like you enough to lose a head for you,' she heard him say and she had no time to be confused because she felt a sharp sting at the back of her head and lost consciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, _now_ you can kill me. But, it's all part of the plot. Feel free to make any assumptions (except you, xXxNtKxXx, because you helped me with the plot. Everyone, just thank her, okay?).**

**I feel like this isn't a good chapter but I wrote and rewrote it so many times that I don't even know anymore. It's fairly boring, that much I know.**

**Also, sorry for the late update (writer's block). Haven't been able to sit down an write for a long time because of school and upcoming exams in March and homework and shit. And updating will also be kind of uneven because I'm gonna write whenever I can.**

**So, review?**

**-Sparrows13**

**PS. Check out my new story A Thousand Little Bluebirds? Love you all :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: TMI is owned my Cassandra Clare, and I have no energy to write anything witty.**

**Chapter 13**

**I apologise for the crappy chapter. **

* * *

><p>Clary's sleep was fitful, and she woke up every now and then but went back to sleep.<p>

But the final time she woke up, there was no drifting back. Jace sat across her, his head leaning against the window-frame. His head was bowed, and his hair fell across his forehead in an endearing way.

Clary realized she was unconsciously fiddling with her mother's ring. It wasn't a grand ring; just a simple silver one with a ruby set into the centre where the band split for the gem and then became one again.

Her father had told her that it had once belonged to Jocelyn and had been Clary's since Jocelyn's death. It was one of Jocelyn's two rings she'd left for Clary, one being the emerald ring Clary had gotten back after Lilith's death.

Somehow, Clary's mind focused on little things here and there, perhaps not to stress on the fact the she was quite probably heading to her death.

Her eyes flitted from one frame after another when she watched the scenery outside, her gaze fell upon Jace's sleeping form, and she so badly wanted him to wake up and tell her that she'd been dreaming it all up, and that she really could trust him, that they were back in the Northstar manor and that not a second had passed since the moment he called her down to breakfast.

But try as she would, she couldn't dream up such a scenario, maybe because the gravity of the situation was catching up with her and would pull her under anytime now.

She couldn't hyperventilate or break down now. She had to have a plan for when she reached the Herondale palace. And it would have to be one hell of a plan because one could not cross paths with Stephen and then have things go their way.

She had learnt over the years that Stephen had a personality, calling which _bossy_ would be a huge understatement.

Stephen dictated everyone's life. And part of why he hated the Lightwoods and the Morgensterns could probably because he could not control them. People like Stephen probably thought they were meant to rule the world.

And they turned out to be the loneliest of all.

Clary sighed, rubbing her temples. The reason she was digging into whatever scraps of Stephen's personality she could find was because if she knew him even just a little, she could find a way to get around him, and turn the tables. She had to know her enemy. It was one tactic that her father taught her that actually stuck,

She couldn't _change_ him. No, he was way too far gone for that.

Control. Control was what he desired. And an illusion of it was what Clary would give him.

There. That was the key.

The illusion of control, him thinking that she'd submitted to his rule, to him as an indirect queen, but a queen for all intents and purposes.

And she was beginning to see how she could mould her thoughts into a plan as a weapon against Stephen. It wouldn't be easy.

* * *

><p>Later, Clary didn't know how much later, she felt the rolling motion beneath her stop. She was thankful, because if it hadn't, she might've thrown up all over the carpeted wood floor of the carriage.<p>

She peeked out the window, and saw the palace looming above then, its spires extending towards the sky, and the walls spreading across miles on either side, like a fortress. There was no drawbridge, which implied that there were no crocodiles waiting to snap at their feet from some moat.

The footman barked out some garbled words, and then Clary craned her neck to see a small battalion stationed before the enormous doors pull them open. They did it effortlessly, like they'd been doing it their whole life—which they probably had been.

Clary looked over to see that Jace hadn't moved from his position—his head raised upward—and that he was drooling.

Very princely, she thought, leaned over and shook him by the shoulders.

He grunted out a string of obscenities. 'Five more minutes,' he mumbled almost incoherently.

Clary rolled her eyes. Men, they were all the same.

She dug around her pockets and her fingers curled around her vial of strong scented perfume. She plucked out the stopper and held the bottle under his nose, waited until he inhaled a lungful of scent, and then sat back.

His face scrunched up at first, and then his eyes opened. His face turned vermillion, and then his eyebrows bunched together, his mouth opened and he sneezed the sneeze of fifty horses with influenza.

He blinked once, twice and struggled to catch his breath. 'You could have gotten me killed,' he accused, running a hand through his hair.

Clary rolled her eyes. 'Pfft, you drool in your sleep,' she replied, too busy watching another carriage draw up next to theirs. She tried to get a better view, but the curtains were pulled shut.

'Who are they?' she asked Jace, who would surely have a better idea.

He leaned over, and his eyes fell on the crest. 'That crest, that's the big one. The big crests are only on carriages issued by royals,' he explained, and then dropped his head into his hands and groaned. 'My father,' he said.

'What about him?' Clary asked absentmindedly as she saw that their carriage was following the other one through the gates of the palace.

'I ran away,' he told her and he seemed to regret them when he say Clary's face light up in amusement.

'And that obviously didn't work out, did it, princess?' Clary mocked him.

'You say that now. But it's what everyone who lives in the palace and doesn't worship my father wants to do. I was just brave enough to do it,' he defended.

'I'll be the judge of that,' Clary said, but her voice wavered. She didn't even know what was going to happen.

Clary felt the door under her arm give, and she almost toppled onto the hard ground beneath her, if not for Jace, who caught her by the waist.

She froze, and was momentarily mesmerized by his eyes, those gold eyes always seeming like they were swirling, before he coughed, and then Clary regained her composure.

The guard outside grunted, as if he was not a fan of such shameless displays—_I don't think he has a wife, I mean, look at the potbelly_, Clary thought—and gestured for them to step out.

Clary shook her head and folded her arms.

Almost instantly, she felt Jace's breath on the side of her face, and his lips pressed to her ear. 'Don't. Not now. You're outnumbered by thousands,' he reminded her. She nodded slightly.

She tentatively took the guards hand and he roughly pulled her down, before helping Jace the same way.

_These people have some serious anger management issues,_ Clary thought.

'Who're they?' Jace said out of nowhere as they watched a small crowd of guards circle the other carriage.

Clary moved closer but was blocked by a guard who stood between her and the others.

'What's happening?' she asked him, but he refused to answer.

'What's happening?' she said again but none answered her.

She felt Jace's hand in her shoulder. 'Walk away,' he advised. She shook her head.

'Not until someone tells me what's happening,' she countered. She didn't know why, but she felt she had to know. Like it was important to her.

Clary ignored Jace's calls as she shoved past the guard and she made it till the outer circle until she felt Jace pull her back and then she saw them when the crowd broke.

'Jonathan?' she cried out in confusion the same time Jace stated, 'Isabelle.'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First things first: I changed my name to Sparrows13, a reference to Cruel Beauty and 13 for my age. There's a sparrow lar in the book. Also, a recent review from taleoftwoherondales was the push I needed to finish the chapter.**

**Forgive me for the long gap, and I apologize in advance for the next probably long gap. My Finals started today with Math. Ugh. And I really want to get a good percentage this time. I'm average, but this time, imma do good. **

**And I also recently read a book called Cruel Beauty by Rosamond Hodge, which is a single novel. And usually when I start a series or a book, someone spoils it for me or I can't help myself from wiki-ing it. But, this one had practically no spoilers online. I swear, I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have plot twists shatter your heart until now. The. Book. God, I loved it. **

**Leave a review and make my day(s)? Because it's so great to read reviews when I'm swamped with studies because I feel so nice. I'm so tired. I don't know. **

**Also, (shameless self advertising here) check out my new TMI fic, A Thousand Little Bluebirds. And I might have a oneshot up once I've finished it. I'd made the cover weeks ago using CorelDraw. It's pretty.**

**-Sparrows13**

**PS. I uploaded the pic of the ruby ring on Pinterest. It's actually one my mother gave me. Link is on my profile. **

**Also since I pin stuff before I write to visualise, they're like teasers.**


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